


What Time Can't Erase

by ddelusionall



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ... sort of, Angst, Drama, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Memory Alteration, Not Epilogue Compliant, Romance, Set in US not in England, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-19 12:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8208703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddelusionall/pseuds/ddelusionall
Summary: Harry Potter is an average New York City cop. A not-so-average blond man and a frustrating case have Harry questioning everything. This fic is not AU, even if the summary makes it sound like it. Deathly Hallows compliant, but EWE (epilogue, what epilogue?).





	1. A Meeting of Equals

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Hex Files](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Hex_Files), which was closed for financial and health reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Hex Files collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thehexfiles/profile).

Disclaimer: These definitely aren't mine. Characters and the plots of the Harry Potter series are property of JK Rowling.  


\-----/-----

Chapter 1: A Meeting of Equals

Harry angled his short frame out of the cab. He handed the driver way more than he should have and turned, stalking toward the door of Pubbles and Beer. The door seemed to open by itself, and Harry sighed when his eyes landed on the smooth expanse of mahogany. He made a beeline to the bar and sat hard on a stool.

“Howdy, Harry.”

Harry grunted as a glass was set in front of him. He downed the drink, and only as it hit the back of his throat did he register that it was whiskey. A cold beer came into his field of vision. Two hands placed on the edge of that vision finally got him to look up.

Adam smiled at him. “Bad day?”

Harry grunted again. It hadn’t been that bad of a day. No worse than others when he was working a difficult case, but he hated it when people covered up for lying bastards. He chugged the beer, not looking away from Adam, and he softened. Adam always had that effect. Couldn’t be upset with those brown eyes or the long auburn hair. Even when they briefly tried to be lovers and Harry had ended up screaming at him, Adam hadn’t taken it personally and they drifted apart ... 

_How many years ago?_

“Stop thinking about it, Potter,” Adam said, with a flirtatious lift of an eyebrow.

Harry had to smile. Other patrons caught Adam’s attention and he moved down the bar. Harry let his eyes follow him, but when Adam turned to mix some drinks, Harry’s gaze caught another from the end of the bar. It was too dim to see details, but the man’s almost white hair stood out, as did the piercing look from wide eyes. He couldn’t read the gaze; a bit of surprise in it, but it sent his body signals that he didn’t want to deal with tonight.

Attractive, Harry thought, then frowned and looked away, concentrating on the long neck bottle. Halfway through his beer, Harry growled. Adam kept shooting him concerned glances, and that jack ass wouldn’t stop staring at him. The hand around the bottle turned white. He almost rose, and then Adam dropped another shot of whiskey in front of him.

“Take it,” he said with an eye roll at Harry’s narrowed eyes. “You definitely need it.”

Harry stared at it. A movement of white caught his attention, but he didn’t look over, just relieved that the man’s gaze wasn’t on him anymore. Harry took the shot, and then pulled out his wallet, dropped a twenty on the bar and left.

His way to the bar hadn’t been impeded, but trying to get out was something else. It was the peak of the night, and bodies clogged the way to the door. He focused his eyes on the door and politely but firmly detached himself from women’s arms. The first gasp of city air filled his lungs. The bar was not the respite he thought it would be. He needed to walk.

A throat cleared behind him, and he spun.

The blond from the bar leaned against the iron railing. He was taller than Harry, probably about six feet. His body was wrapped in black jeans and a blood red shirt. Harry didn’t know why, but he knew it was silk. Pale skin showed through where the top button was left open. His hair was left wild, city wind caressing it across the red silk that covered broad shoulders. Gray blue eyes roved about him a bit, and then came the smile; pretentious, powerful. Annoying. A smirk more than a smile. Harry fought the impulse to shiver.

“Warm night,” the man muttered, a slight accent to his voice that Harry thought he imagined.

Harry scoffed and turned. He took a step away.

That scathing voice said, “Not in mood for conversation?”

This time the British accent was strong. It wasn’t the Irish, cockney slur, but dignified and stern, despite the playful tone.

“No.”

Laughter made him stop and turn back around. The man pushed off from the railing. Harry couldn’t help but watch him as he glided over. He only moved five steps but Harry would have paid him to walk more.

He shook his head and then met those gray blue eyes again. Another smirk firmly in place.

“I’m not in the mood for this,” Harry said. “Maybe another night when I don’t feel like killing half of New York City.”

“Killing, shagging, just two different forms of mind blowing fulfillment.”

Harry couldn’t help it and laughed. Then his sensibilities returned. “Nice chatting with you –”

“Draco,” the man said.

Harry raised his eyebrows.

“That’s my name. Draco Malfoy.”

“The name matches the pompous persona. Well done, but you’ll have to get your _shagging_ elsewhere.”

The smile/smirk turned to a longing and hungry grin. “Must I? Funny how you automatically think that’s what I’m after.”

“You’ve been nothing but obvious.”

This brought laughter. “I know how to get what I want.”

“I don’t doubt that, but I’m good at refusing.”

“A challenge,” and those blue-gray eyes sparkled.

“You don’t even know my name.”

Draco’s eyebrows rose, but he said nothing.

Finally, Harry rolled his eyes. He thought briefly of lying, but then couldn’t and said, “Harry Potter.” 

The eyes flashed with victory, but Draco said, “The name matches the average, dispensable, classic New Yarker. Well done.”

“Well, Draco, it’s been fun. See ya later.”

Harry turned to go, and then looked back when Draco said, “Hey.” He held out a white card, but Harry didn’t reach to take it.

“Just in case,” Draco said, another smirk firmly in place.

Another eye roll, but Harry snatched the business card out of those pale hands. He turned before he could really appreciate the smooth skin that grazed his fingers.

After only five steps, that British voice said, “You lack the finesse, Potter, but you swing a mighty fine swagger with that arse.”

Harry didn’t turn about but hurried his footsteps.

The walk did nothing to appease him. Anger at this current case made thinking difficult. If only Barnes would just do something stupid, ANYTHING stupid, and Harry could nail him. But the man was smart. Not the first smart man Harry had brought down, but one of the most conniving. Even with a search warrant for his home and office, Harry couldn’t find any evidence that his girlfriend had, as he said, just up and left him. But Bella, according to family, wasn’t one to go more than three or four days without asking for money. No one had heard from her for three weeks.

He took the stairs up to his apartment, unlocked the door and threw his keys onto the small table by the door. His wallet followed. The white card fluttered, this way and that, before settling on the floor. Harry smiled and picked it up.

The business name was Malfoy Enterprises. Draco Malfoy was listed as Acting CEO. CEO? That man had barely looked twenty-one. An address from uptown, phone and fax number, an email address. On the back was a different number. A cell number if the prefix was any indication.

The walk had been a disaster; the bar had been a disaster. Maybe he did just need to get laid. He gave himself a shake. Not during a case. It always distracted him when he was working a case. He set the business card by his wallet and then went to shower.

Harry kept his eyes to the floor, ignoring his reflection as long as he could. Sometimes he had the sinking feeling that it watched him, just waiting to spurt out insults about his features. The scar was the first one, the lightning shaped symbol of his parents’ death when he was only one. There were other scars from abusive relatives, fights at school, and injuries from lacrosse. He stripped, revealing more of them. The one from his rookie year on the force. He told people it was a bullet wound just because, but his partner had stabbed him with a pencil. It took a long time to get the lead out of him. Scars from scrapes and tangles with hooligans trying to run away from him.

Life as a cop wasn’t easy, but it was something he felt he always wanted. A bit of authority, but not enough to really be noticed. He spared a glance for his bright green eyes and then popped out his contacts. The world went blurry.

He turned the shower temperature up higher than normal, trying to get rid of the stress of the day. His hair was getting long again, he’d have to cut it back to above his ears or Randall would give him one. Randall was always looking for a reason to bust Harry’s ass, but Harry knew he was a damn good cop. And Randall was just piss and wind.

That single thought of annoyance, brought up another, but less source, as gray-blue eyes and white-blond hair filled his vision.

He needed to rip up that business card.

\---/---

_Wind blows in his face. Sun comes in snatches, blinding him and then warming him as he soars around. Despite his concentration, a thrill of exhilaration flies through him. This is life. This is breath. A glitter catches his eye. This is the point of everything. He dives after it, knowing that he will get there before that streak of white-blonde hair below him._

\---/---

Harry jerked awake. Another flying dream.

But there had never been anyone else in those. He knew that bit of pale hair though, and shivered. Yeah, maybe he should have just shagged that Malfoy. He kept seeing that hair everywhere.

His phone rang in the dark, and he jumped. A bit edgy. He took a steeling breath, and answered, “Potter.”

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, Kat, you didn’t.”

“You need to get laid.”

He rolled his eyes at his dark bedroom. Kat Saunders, his sometimes-partner, always-irritator. Another relationship gone sour, but that’s because Harry had given up on women at that point. Kat hadn’t minded, and they still shagged once in a while.

Shagged? Again? He shook his head to clear out that smirk from his mind.

“ – know, I know. You don’t get involved when you’re on a case.”

“That better be why you’re calling at the butt crack of dawn,” Harry said with a growl.

She laughed. “Like I would have dared otherwise.”

“What have you got for me?”

“Bella’s ex-boyfriend.”

Harry almost dropped his phone.

“Yep, we found him. He wasn’t very cooperative, but we’re holding him for something else that we can’t feasibly charge him for, so you better get down here and – ”

“I’m already on my way,” he said and disconnected the call. And he was, he’d stood and flipped on the lights before Kat was half way through. Finally, something good. Finally, something worthwhile. Harry didn’t shower, but threw on clothes, grabbed keys, phone and wallet and barreled out the door.

He shouldn’t have been so excited. The interview didn’t go his way and Mutton, as he said he preferred to be called, didn’t know where Bella was. They let him stew in the interview room for hours, asking again and again, but in the end, Kat was right, and they couldn’t hold him. It didn’t make sense to Harry, they’d been trying to talk to him since Bella disappeared. Mutton didn’t give him a reason for not saying why he hadn’t just cooperated to begin with. That was promising. It meant that Mutton knew something, no matter what he said.

The night shift was on, and a fresh cup of coffee landed on Harry’s desk. Coffee splattered onto his paperwork. He jerked alert, and then smiled up at Kat.

“Jumpy, Potter?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he admitted and then wished it back.

“You need to get some sleep.”

“He needs to get laid,” a uniform said from across the room.

Harry flipped the guy off without turning in his seat. “You just want me, Sorenson.”

“Harry,” Kat muttered.

He looked up and grinned. Kat was gorgeous with waves of brown hair, green eyes. Currently her white teeth had a hold of one of her luscious lips, face set with worry. Harry didn’t care about the flippant remark. Randall wasn’t there and Sorenson wasn’t one of his flunkies. 

“All of that will be here tomorrow morning,” Kat said.

Harry picked up the concern in her voice and decided not to fight with her. If he tried, she’d just sit there, so perfectly pressed against his desk and distract him until he went home.

“You win, Inspector,” he said.

“Take him to your place, Kat,” Sorenson said. “Calm him down.”

He put his arm around Kat and just as they were passing Sorenson’s desk, he grabbed Kat’s ass and then said, “I’m gay and I still have a better chance than you ever will.”

“Potter!” Kat shouted.

They shared a cab toward his place, but she denied the invitation up, even after he apologized for making her feel bad.

Home was bad, home was lonely. Harry tried to watch TV, he tried to read, he tried to shower. He was too high strung and ended up pacing.

Something was wrong, there was something big just beyond his fingertips. Something he missed. He couldn’t even tell if it had to do with the Barnes case or not. He always trusted his instincts. Whatever it was, it wasn’t here in his apartment. He shot a glance at the clock. Almost midnight. He grabbed his jacket and went outside. He didn’t mean to go to Pubbles, but his feet knew the route better than his brain did.

Bodies filled the bar, loud music blasted from the speakers. He almost turned around, but Adam caught his eye and gestured to him with a shot glass. Harry sighed, and against his better judgment, waded his way to the bar.

After taking the shot, Adam leaned in and said loudly in his ear, “That blond that was making eyes at you is back.”

Harry groaned. 

“He’s been here the last four nights looking for you. He’s upstairs. I told him I’d tell you to go talk to him if you showed up.”

Harry gave him desperate eyes.

Adam smiled and shook his head, completely unrepentant. “Sorry, man, but he’s a customer, and pays for his drinks. You don’t want to talk to him, you don’t have to go upstairs, but honestly, you –”

“Need to get laid, I know,” Harry finished. “Apparently, you’re not the only one that’s noticed.”

Adam laughed. He fixed a drink and put it, plus a beer, in front of him. “Here, that’s what he’s been ordering. Go take it to him.”

“But –”

That’s as far as Harry got before Adam turned his back, flicking his hands in dismissal. Harry took a deep breath, grabbed both of the drinks and stood. His mind ignored the smirk in his head and told the rest of him to calm down. He was going to talk to this Draco, and find out how the hell a mere kid was a CEO.

He was still climbing the stairs when he met gray-blue eyes. Lips, flush against his pale skin, turned into a smirk. That smirk made Harry pause, not literally, but he noted it and wondered for a moment what it hid. He knew enough about interrogation that people had masks they hid behind.

Harry set the drink in front of Draco and then sat in the booth.

“I was about to leave,” Draco said in disdain.

“I’m not stopping you,” Harry replied.

“I’ve been waiting for you for four days, why would I leave once you’re here?”

“You’re not one for directness, Malfoy.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

Harry shrugged. He wasn’t really sure. “Instinct. I’m a cop, I deal with all types of people, and you learn how to read them.”

Draco smiled. “So I’m being direct, so what? That just means that I know I don’t have to try to get what I want from you. You’ll cave. Just thinking about it will be enough to make you crumble.”

Harry scoffed.

“What’s the matter? Scared, Potter?”

Harry smiled, and easily replied, “You wish, Malfoy," almost like he'd done it before.

Draco’s blue eyes glistened with amusement. His lips quirked in a smile that he hid quickly. Harry watched as those lips settled on the rim of the glass. A bit of clear liquid quickly disappeared. A pink tongue licked the rim of the glass. Harry knew it was a ploy to make him look up, but he didn’t, not until the lips moved and the glass clinked against the table.

Lust settled into Draco’s eyes, now more gray than blue. That look managed what the tongue hadn’t, and Harry blushed. He refused to look away from that smirk.

“So tell me, Harry, how does a tough, New York City detective be gay?”

“How does a pain in the ass like you get to be CEO of a company?”

“Acting CEO,” he corrected quickly. “It’s my father’s firm, but he’s currently incapacitated.”

“In what way?”

Draco’s eyes flashed, a brief moment, before that mask came back.

“Okay, so you don’t want to talk about it. How do you know I’m a detective?” Harry said.

Draco rolled his eyes. “You’ve left me here for four bloody nights. I’ve been talking to Adam. He says some wonderful things about you.”

The lick of lips that came with that made Harry grin. He took a sip of beer, and then said, “I'm gay because I was abused in junior high and decided I liked it. The jack asses never got in trouble for it, so maybe that’s a bit of why I’m a cop, but honestly, I just like the anonymity of the job. I get to help people, but I don’t necessarily stand out.”

“Oh, you stand out,” Draco crooned, “with those fiery green eyes and that body that is currently over-clothed.”

Draco seemed that much younger to him all of sudden. “How old are you?” Harry asked.

“Younguns aren’t your thing, huh?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. Did this ... git, really just say that? Did he just call him a git?

Draco’s laughter curbed his confusion. “I’m twenty-five. And you, Mr. Responsible?”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am. And you?”

“Same.”

“And what else do you do besides being a cop?”

Harry sighed. “You know what, ferret –”

“What did you just call me?” His eyes were narrowed again.

“A ferret. Guess I should have gone with a weasel.”

“Hey, I haven’t done anything.”

“I know. That’s why I’m mad. I didn’t walk up those stairs with the intention of playing the let’s get to know one another game.”

“Fair enough.” This time he leaned forward, a lustful gleam in his eye. “So what else do you do besides being a cop?”

“Why? Do you prefer being in charge of the nightstick?”

His smile was fleeting, but then he shook his head. “Not very original, Potter. I hope you have other talents.”

Harry downed his beer and stood up. “Only one way for you to find out.”

“Told you I was good at getting what I wanted.”

“I stopped resisting.”

Harry led the way down the stairs. He caught Adam’s eye. When Adam grinned at him, Harry flipped him off. They stepped out into the cool air, and then Harry headed to his apartment.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Draco demanded.

“Home.”

Draco made a noise of disbelief.

“I thought you were coming with me.”

“We never did discuss location.”

“You mean with that tired line of ‘your place or mine’? Sorry, Malfoy, but I live two blocks that way. I’m in no mood to wait for a cab or to drive uptown to wherever it is that you live.”

“Eager, huh?”

“Frustrated.”

“Well, we should bloody well talk about parameters. You don’t seem like the type to bottom, and I’m always in charge.”

“Don’t worry. You can bottom and be in charge at the same time.”

Malfoy laughed. “Too true, but I don’t bottom.”

“Why don’t I believe that?”

“Okay, so I rarely bottom.”

“Nice try.”

“So you have me all figured out, Potter?”

“Sure do. You’re Daddy’s little boy, wherever Daddy is. Chances are, you either haven’t told him you’re gay, or he already knows and isn’t happy with you about it. You bottom because of some strange, fucked up childhood where no one ever loved you enough and--”

“That’s quite enough,” Draco whispered.

Harry chanced a glance at him. He was looking at the ground. They walked in silence.

“Are you sure we’ve never met before?” Draco asked, grey eyes suddenly meeting his green ones.

Harry almost said yes, of course, he knew him. It felt right, but he was sure he’d never met a handsome, British man. “I would have remembered meeting a blond as irritating and gorgeous as you.”

The spark came back to his eyes as he smiled.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry continued. “I’m good at figuring people out. I’m a detective, remember? It’s what I do.”

Harry opened the glass door to his building. The security guard looked up, nodded and then looked back at his magazine. As they bypassed the elevators, Harry stole another glance at Draco. He seemed a bit confused.

“They get stuck a lot,” Harry said. “And I’d much rather do this in my apartment than in an elevator.”

The security guard snorted.


	2. A Meeting of Equals

Disclaimer: These definitely aren't mine. Characters and the plots of the Harry Potter series are property of JK Rowling.  


\-----/-----

Chapter 2: A Reoccurence of Dreams

Harry unlocked the door to his apartment and let Draco in ahead of him. His apartment was small. Only one bedroom and bath with a connected kitchen and living room. He couldn’t afford much else.

“Just as I expected,” Draco said with a curl to his lip.

Harry bit back on a retort and an urge to throw the prat out on his ass.

“Good thing I didn’t come over to enjoy the décor.”

Draco’s hands were suddenly unbuttoning his shirt. Harry helped him by tugging it out of his jeans. Thoughts of work, thoughts of Kat and most of the frustration from both transferred to getting Draco naked and into his bedroom. There were no tender kisses, no loving caresses, just mouths against skin, hands grabbing flesh as they stumbled into the bedroom. The bed connected with Draco’s knees and he fell back, his mouth dislodging from Harry’s neck with a pop.

Harry grinned down at him. Before Draco could completely move up to the bed, Harry wrapped his hand around his cock and dropped to his knees. A moment later, the cock was in his mouth.

“Gods, Potter,” Draco muttered, then Harry engulfed him a few times and coherency left Draco moaning and panting. Harry gave him just enough to want even more and then pulled away.

“Bloody hell,” Draco shouted as Harry climbed up on the bed.

Harry laughed. “I’m not doing all the work. I thought you liked being in charge.”

“Yeah, I do, so you bloody well better get your mouth back on my prick.”

He settled himself on his two pillows and put his hands behind his head. Draco didn’t move, so he slung one leg over his chest, drawing it up until his knee hooked onto Draco’s chin. Those grey eyes looked at him.

“We haven’t solved the problem of who’s bottoming.”

A tinge of pink slid over Draco’s cheeks. “I thought—”

“Yep, you assumed.” Harry laughed. “I know I give off the ‘on-top’ vibe, but I don’t care either way.”

Draco climbed out from under his leg and crawled over him. He stopped an inch from his face and said, “You’re serious.”

Harry leaned in so their lips barely touched and whispered, “Fuck me, Draco.”

A feral light gleamed in his eyes. Yes, a feral possessive look of absolute victory. “Always knew you’d be a submissive and demanding playmate.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Wha--”

Draco shook his head. “No talking. Lube?”

Harry pointed to the bed stand. Without dislodging Harry’s legs from his body, he leaned over and opened the drawer. Harry ran a finger over the tip of Draco’s dick. He shuddered. It’d been a long time since he bottomed for anybody. He couldn’t figure out why he suddenly decided to for Draco, but he knew it had something to do with his analysis of the man.

Draco poured lube on his fingers. Harry bent one leg and lifted the other one, settling his calf on Draco’s shoulder. He met those grey blue eyes and smiled. Draco took a deep breath that Harry didn’t understand until his finger tentatively touched him. His hand was shaking.

Draco was nervous? For some reason, that just didn’t sit right with Harry. Draco should be confident, in control of himself and his surroundings. Arrogant. Definitely. _But how would you know? You met him four days ago._

The lubed finger pulled his attention away from his uncertainty. He moaned as it slid into him. 

So did Draco. Draco prepared him slowly, rubbing his free hand up around Harry’s chest to tease his nipples. Coherent thought left Harry as three of Draco’s fingers fucked him in just the right spot. Man, he had to start bottoming again.

“Squirming at my touch,” Draco said, and Harry caught a hint of awe in that.

“I’ll do more than squirm if you’d just hurry up and fuck me.”

Draco laughed. “Where’s the fun in that? How long can you control yourself? How long until you cave?”

Harry’s body tensed and he moved his hands from Draco’s skin to the bed to push himself up. Draco laid a calming hand on his chest and twisted his fingers. Harry’s movement became a sudden gasp and he fell back to the bed.

“If you make me come right now, I’m tossing you out of here without your clothes.”

“You’re in no position to be making demands, Potter.”

But his fingers moved. Harry watched, breath gasping, as Draco poured lube right onto his dick.

Harry readjusted, pulling a pillow under his hips and wrapping his legs around Draco’s waist. He groaned when the tip of Draco pressed against his relaxed entrance. But Draco didn’t push.

“Well?” Harry said, breath light and gasping. “Afraid you’ll hate yourself in the morning?”

Draco gave him a small smile. “No, just can’t believe my luck. You’ve always been gorgeous.”

Again, Harry’s question was interrupted by Draco moving. Two thrusts had Draco balls deep inside him and he had to take deep breaths against the sudden intrusion. Draco paused to steady his own breathing and then met Harry’s eyes.

“Breathtaking eyes,” Draco whispered. “I feel like I’ve been staring into your eyes my whole life.”

“Me, too,” Harry replied, unsure of what it meant exactly. He knew Draco’s eyes; he’d seen them flash in anger, annoyance, bitterness. But now, they were soft, softer than he’d ever seen them before. Almost sad, like he knew that he’d never see Harry again. But how is that possible when this was the first time that he’d stared this deeply into these gray eyes before?

No, that wasn’t right. But he knew it was. Had he met Draco before and just couldn’t remember? 

But then Draco would have remembered. Harry shook his head and looked away. “Fuck me,” he said, and didn’t quite mask the pleading in it.

Draco moved, sliding all the way out, before plunging back in. He took his time, long deep slow thrusts that left Harry cursing. Harry definitely knew that he’d never done this with Draco.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re amazing. Where have you been my whole life, Draco?”

Draco grinned. “Just beyond your subconscious.”

Harry firmly decided that Draco was odd, before Draco sped up. The thrusts were still long, just faster. Harry suddenly had problems keeping his legs wrapped around Draco.

Draco laughed, shifted him, and hooked his legs over his elbows. “Better?”

“No. Faster, go faster.”

“In a little while.”

“Damn it, Draco.” Harry’s pretty sure that’s what he said. It’s what he meant to say, but it probably was just gibberish.

“Gods, Potter, if you could only see yourself.”

Draco shifted him again, putting one leg on his shoulder. He leaned over Harry, thrusting harder, and took Harry’s erection in his hand.

“Oh, god, Draco, please.”

“Let’s see how long it takes you to cave,” Draco whispered.

Draco fucked him, fucked him like he wanted it, hard, fast, bed shaking, body numbing sex. Harry threw his head back and gasped, whimpers escaping when he managed to take a breath. Draco leaned over him, mouth perilously close to Harry’s lips. The little gasps of breath made Harry shiver.

“Come, my lion,” Draco whispered, lips brushing against lips. “Come for me.”

Draco’s mouth closed over Harry’s, lips, tongue and teeth keeping rhythm with the rest of their movements. Harry wanted to protest, kissing was too intimate for a one night stand, but Draco grabbed his leaking cock and stroked him into completion. Harry moaned into the kiss, shuddered and splattered come all over his chest and stomach.

Draco finally lost control. Or what Harry assumed was Draco losing control. He never varied in his thrusts but his teeth grabbed Harry’s bottom lip and he moaned as his body shook with his release.

Draco moved his face to Harry’s neck as they both relaxed, Harry letting his legs down, Draco letting his elbows bend, pressing their bodies together.

Finally, Harry found his voice. “I need to start bottoming more often.”

Draco laughed and moved so their bodies were just short of cuddling.

Harry froze, and then took a deep breath to relax. Who cares if he was getting a bit too comfy with the blond? He’d already spent more time after-the-fact than he had with any other random one-night-stand. He was actually comfortable. Of course, as soon as he thought that, he knew that he shouldn’t be, at least not with Draco, but why would it be a problem because it was Draco? He wasn’t ever comfortable after sex. Why was he so worried that it was Draco he was comfortable with?

Harry sighed.

“I’ll take that as my cue to leave,” Draco said with a laugh.

“No,” Harry said quickly, wrapping arms around Draco as he started to move. “Just thinking about how I don’t want to go to work tomorrow.”

“But you love being a cop.”

“Yeah, but not when I’m working on a case that isn’t cooperating. It’s frustrating when the bad guys win.”

Draco propped up on one elbow and stared over at Harry. “What’s going on?”

“Can’t talk about it.”

“You don’t have to give me specifics. I bet I can guess.” He tapped a finger against his chin in mock concentration. “Let’s see. What is going on with the police right now that the press shouldn’t know about, but they do know about it, and they’re threatening to release just to show that cops are incapable of doing their jobs? It must be about the futile hunt for Barnes’ missing mistress.”

“Draco,” Harry said in warning. “How do you know about it?”

“Friends in the press, Potter. I try to stay well connected. I take it you aren’t having any luck with it.”

“None. It’s frustrating.”

“Ah, so I was just a way to take out your frustration.”

Harry scoffed. “I never get involved with anyone when I’m working a case like this, but I usually have them closed within two weeks. It’s been almost a month.”

Draco laughed. “And you still managed to control yourself for so long. Wow.”

Harry looked at the clock. It was a little after three. “Fuck. I have to be to work in four hours.”

“Five hours for me.”

“You can stay if you’d like,” Harry said, surprising himself.

Draco grinned. “Why do I get the feeling that you’ve never offered that to anyone else?”

“I haven’t. You’re just--” Harry waved a hand, but couldn’t explain why he trusted Draco, why he felt comfortable with him, or why he felt like he knew the man.

“Just stay,” he whispered, and in another uncharacteristic move, brushed lips against Draco’s. “Come shower with me?” He made it a question.

Those gray eyes searched him for long enough that he started wishing back the invitation.

“You’re not going to hate yourself in the morning, are you?” Draco asked.

“Technically, it is morning, so no, I’m going to say I’ll be all right. Come on.”

Harry shuffled out from Draco’s body. Somehow, they’d ended up curled on their sides, legs entwined. Harry didn’t turn back, but he didn’t breathe well until he heard Draco get up behind him.

“You’ve got a swing in your step now that you’ve been shagged, Potter.”

“I’m sure I won’t be able to walk this well in the morning.”

The shower was nice. It could have easily turned into a frantic shower fuck, but cuddling was down to a minimum, and focus was put on getting clean and back to bed.

“You don’t own a blowing dry, do you?” Draco asked.

“You mean a blow dryer?” Harry asked with a smile.

Draco waved his hand at him. “Whatever. I have the right to be befuddled. Great sex and all that.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t exactly need one.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Your grooming habits are still atrocious.”

Harry couldn’t let that one by. He turned, making sure he was looking at Draco with slightly suspicious eyes.

Draco swallowed. “What?”

“That’s the third time you’ve said something that makes it seem like you’ve met me before. What gives?”

“What do you mean? You’re the one that went all psychologist on me earlier. I just feel like I know you. Don’t tell me you don’t feel the same.”

Harry kept his mouth shut, but he had the sinking suspicion that Draco was lying.

_How can he be lying? You don’t know him._

Harry shook his head. “Come on,” he said and held out a hand for Draco. He led them back to the bed. He set his alarm for seven. He kept Draco close, shifting around until the blond hair fell in damp locks across his chest. Draco ran a soft hand up his thigh and his hip. It wasn’t a sexy gesture, but one of comfort and familiarity that Harry didn’t understand. But it was nice, so he didn’t protest.

Soft irritating fingers woke Harry up. The last images of his dream faded, the sky twisting around him, wind in his face, a sparkling dot teasing just beyond his fingers. He glanced at the clock. Five minutes until the alarm went off. He groaned and rolled into the slightly cool body next to him. The body shivered with laughter, and the fingers kept up their exploration of his hair.

“Five more bloody minutes,” Harry said, burying his face into Draco’s chest.

“I’ve been up for ten,” Draco said. “It’s not fair if you can sleep and I can’t.”

“I think I’ll call Kat and tell her I’m working a lead and just go back to sleep.”

Draco laughed. “You are not that irresponsible. Up you get.” He tweaked one of Harry’s nipples hard. Harry yelped and jerked away. He scowled at Draco’s smiling face, but his reprimand was lost as Draco’s warm mouth covered the nipple in apology.

“God, Draco, don’t do that, or neither of us is going to leave this bed.”

“My job is more of a ‘figurehead’ role anyway.”

“Mine’s not.” With difficulty, Harry detached himself from Draco. Harry went to the bathroom. He wasn’t as sore as he thought he was going to be, but sitting on his unforgiving desk chair was going to be difficult.

His brain was still sleep fogged and the-morning-after-sex fogged, but he knew that he wanted to see Draco again. The sooner the better.

And what was it about that feeling? He’d never met someone he’d connected with before. It wasn’t like that connection people have when they have things in common; as far as he knew, they didn’t have anything in common except being gay. Harry just felt comfortable around him, relaxed, calm. He rarely felt calm.

He pattered back to the bedroom. Draco was already mostly dressed. Harry came up to him and stopped his hands from doing up the buttons of his shirt. He wrapped his arms under the shirt and pulled Draco to him for a steamy kiss.

“Thanks,” Harry whispered against Draco’s lips.

Draco smirked. “I know I’m good.”

“Prat.”

“That’s a British term.”

Harry cocked his head. “Bastard. That’s a universal term.”

Draco laughed. His hands slid down Harry’s bare back and cupped his ass. “So, Potter. I demand that you have dinner with me on Friday night.”

“And if I’m busy on Friday?”

“Well, you better be.” His hands massaged in deep circles. “You’re having dinner with me. Seven o’clock. Dress up. Meet me at my office.”

Draco kissed him swiftly and moved away. He left the bedroom buttoning his shirt up.

“Yes, sir,” Harry called after him.

Draco’s laughter was cut off as the door slammed.

Harry walked into the station about ten minutes late. He plopped onto his chair and winced. 

Yeah, he got buggered good. But the pain wasn’t enough to keep him from smiling.

“Well, hello, sugar,” Kat’s said from above him. “Who put that smile on your face?”

Harry looked up, but before he could open his mouth, Sorenson yelled, “Potter, did you get laid?”

“Jealous, Sorenson?”

“God, no, I’m—”

“POTTER!”

Harry stifled a groan and turned around. “Yes, Randall.”

“What have I told you about discussing _that_ while at work?”

“And I suppose having to listen to you talk about the whore you paid is different?”

“Harry,” Kat whispered.

Oops. Harry kept his face blank though. He wouldn’t take it back or apologize. Randall was an ass and a half. He did get the satisfaction of seeing Randall’s face turn red.

“You remember who you’re talking to, Detective, or you’re going back to traffic.”

“You’re the one that took me off traffic. I was happy there without you breathing down my neck.”

Randall’s gritted his teeth. “Keep your abnormal personal life out of work. And you better get me Barnes soon. I’m waiting for a reason, Potter.”

Harry took a deep breath. Yeah, Randall was waiting for something to fire him for. He wouldn’t give it to him.

Randall stood, probably waiting for a yes, sir, or some such acknowledgement of his authority. He wasn’t going to give it. Technically, Kat was his boss. Randall turned suddenly and went to his office, slamming the door.

“Not smart, Potter,” Kat said. “What’s gotten into you?”

“He can’t answer that,” Sorenson said from behind them. “None of that abnormal personal life.”

Harry laughed with him, but Kat pursed her lips. “You’re the one that told me to get laid, Kat.”

“Yeah, but you’re … happy.”

“Sex usually does that to a man,” Sorenson said.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Jimmy?” Kat demanded.

“I’ll take that as my cue to go back to my desk.”

“Good.”

Harry bent back over the Barnes file as Kat stared holes into Sorenson’s retreating figure. She sat next to him. “Okay, Potter, out with it.”

“His name is Draco Malfoy.”

She made a face. “You’re making that up.”

“Nope. He’s British. His family is originally French.”

Harry tried to remember if Draco had actually said that. He was sure he had. How else would he have known?

“Wait. Malfoy? As in Malfoy Enterprises?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re dating Lucius Malfoy’s son?”

“Not dating. We had sex.”

“With a smile like that, you’ll be seeing him again. Do you even know who Lucius Malfoy is?”

“Should I?”

“He only runs one of the biggest loan and insurance companies in New York. It’s an international firm, too. He does a ton of business with Europe and Middle East countries.”

Harry whistled. “No wonder Draco’s rich. So, what’s up with his father? Why is Draco ‘acting CEO’ at the moment?”

“His father’s in prison.”

Harry coughed and managed to choke out, “What?”

“He’s in London, so the details are confidential, but he got mixed up with some crime lord or something. Nothing that’s affected Malfoy Enterprises, but according to the report I saw, he’s going to be there for at least another three years.”

No wonder Draco didn’t want to talk about it.

“Interesting.”

“So, you gotta give me more than that,” Kat said.

“What else is to give? I met him at Pubbles five days ago. I shrugged off his advances, but he was there again last night, so I hooked up with him.”

“You did more than hook up with him. You can’t fool me, Potter. I’m a woman, I’m better at these things than you are.”

Harry sighed. “Have you ever met someone that you were certain you’d met before, but then realized that you hadn’t? I don’t mean like, you see someone who looks familiar, or this person reminds you of someone else, but someone that you actually know.”

“Can’t say I followed that blabbering. Are you saying that you’ve met Malfoy before?”

“No, yes, I don’t know, Kat. It’s weird. You’d think I’d remember a hot, blond, British man, but I don’t, but I feel like I’ve known him my whole life. Even he feels it. We didn’t talk about anything of any depth, but it was more like we didn’t have to. Like I already know everything about him.”

“You’re not making any sense. This isn’t a love-at-first sight thing is it?”

“God, no. I don’t love the guy. I barely get along with him, but … see what I mean? How do I know I barely get along with him? We fucked once, we got along well enough, we didn’t argue about anything, but I feel almost certain that we aren’t going to be this cozy in the future.”

“You just know people well.”

“He stayed over, Kat.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You never let them stay over.”

Harry sighed. “I know, but … well, I didn’t want him to go. It was like if he left, he’d take part of me with him.”

“Wow. But it isn’t love?”

“Hell, Kat, it’s barely lust. I mean, sure he’s gorgeous, but last night—well, this morning—we showered together and it was … nice. No groping hands or anything. And this morning, he woke me up playing with my hair, and—”

“Okay, so you’re a bit confused,” Kat said with a laugh.

“We’re going to dinner on Friday.”

“Ha! Told you. You’re dating him.”

Harry smiled. “His exact words were, ‘I demand that you have dinner with me on Friday night.’ He’s a pushy bastard.”

“And the sex was … “

“Amazing.” Harry lowered his voice even more and added, “I bottomed.”

Kat gasped. “You never—”

“I know,” Harry said with an eye roll. “So if I keep shifting in my chair, you know why.”

“Any other surprises you want to throw at me? I think I need another heart attack today.”

“That’s about it.”

“Well, are you going to dinner with him?”

Harry’s smile grew. “Of course, I am. And, yes, you’ll get details.”

\--/--

_Hissing. Crackling. Face heating. Fire spreading. Jumping from unseen surfaces. Lighting others. Shouting. Cursing. Flying._  
Got to go back. Have to go back.  
Fire too close. Never going to make it.  
Shaking arms wrap around a body. Blond hair flits just at the edge of his vision.  
Fire reaches for their feet. 

\--/--


	3. A Night of Questions

Disclaimer: These definitely aren't mine. Characters and the plots of the Harry Potter series are property of JK Rowling.  


\-----/-----

Chapter 3: A Night of Questions

Friday took a long time coming. Wednesday and Thursday were spent with even more confrontations with Randall. At five o’clock on Friday, Harry walked out on one. He let Randall rant, until that minute hand ticked up to the top of the clock, then turned around and left. He knew he shouldn't have left work, not with the Barnes’ case calling for his attention, but there was only so much one man could take before punching someone in the face.

And he had a date.

Harry took his time in the shower, and then even more time getting ready. Draco had said to dress nice, so Harry dug into _that_ part of his closet. He found a pair of gray pinstriped slacks that weren't wrinkled. He pulled on a deep burgundy ribbed sweater and threw a black blazer over the hastily created ensemble.

By the time Harry flew down the stairs and snagged a cab, he only had twenty minutes to get to Draco’s office. He hoped the cab would hurry.

On the way there, Harry tried to squelch his nerves. He had never wanted to see someone again so badly in his life. What was it about Draco that was so captivating? Could it be that strange feeling of “knowing” who he was even though that was impossible? He’d had dreams the last few nights, dreams of blond hair, an arrogant smirk and caustic laughter. Harry knew that he’d never heard Draco laugh like that.

The cab pulled to the curb. Five minutes to spare. Harry gave the driver a huge tip, and just stopped from running into the building. The building was small, compared to others on each side. A sign at the front of the building said, “Malfoy Enterprises.” Harry went through the doors.

A receptionist looked up at him through narrowed eyes. “Can I help you?” he said in a simpering voice. Sheesh, they even hired arrogant people.

“I’m here to see Draco Malfoy.”

“Mister Malfoy is in a meeting.”

“My name is Harry Potter. He’s expecting me.”

The man-child sniffed, but picked up a phone. “Sorry to bother you, Mister Malfoy, but there’s a Harry Potter who claims—… Yes, sir.” He hung up the phone and sniffed in Harry’s direction. “Take the middle elevator up to the top floor, Mister Potter.”

“Thanks.”

Harry sauntered past the desk and hit the call button for the middle elevator, and then the number 10. The ride up was probably only a few seconds, but it felt like longer.

The doors pinged open. Harry walked down a short hall. He ended up in a foyer of sorts. More an extension of the hallway. There were tables along the walls and a setting for four at the end. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out into New York City. Harry hadn't thought the building high enough to see that much of the city.

He paused, feeling something like ice water trickle down his back and he looked around the room. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary, and then the sound of an argument hit his ears.

“—doesn’t remember. Can’t you understand that?” Draco’s voice said.

“So what? He needs to come back.” Another British voice.

“I’m trying, Weasley, but I’m not going to force it. He’s happy. He’s is utterly happy with his life and you want to take that away from him.”

Harry stepped around a doorway and looked into an office.

The other man with Draco was tall, a few inches over six feet. He had red shaggy hair and wore jeans and a t-shirt. There were scars all over his arms, well-muscled arms that were currently folded tightly against his chest.

“But, Malfoy—“

Draco suddenly spotted Harry. He smiled and said, “Potter, you’re on time for once.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose as Draco stood and walked over to him. Harry let that comment slide though, his attention on Draco’s captivating walk. He was already dressed for dinner in light khaki trousers, pale blue button up shirt, and a navy sports coat tailored just for his body.

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist and kissed his cheek. “You look fantastic. Although that hair of yours needs some help.”

The other man scoffed. Harry turned his attention to him. He looked vaguely familiar. His brown eyes were slightly narrowed, but full of hurt, pain, anguish. An old lover? Harry didn't think so.

“Excuse my manners, Potter. I’m just very excited to see you. It’s been a long three days. This is Ronald Weasley. He’s a business associate.”

Harry doubted that, too, but he didn't question it. He held his hand out, and Weasley shook it.

“Hey, mate,” Weasley said, and despite the emotions running across his face, he smiled. A genuine smile.

Harry couldn't help but smile back. “Have we met before?”

Draco cleared his throat. Weasley glanced at him, anger in his eyes, and then he said, “I doubt it. I live in London. This is the first time I've been to the United States, so unless you've been to England … ”

“Guess not then,” Harry said with a shrug.

“Darling, can you wait in the parlor for me?” Draco said. “I have to get rid of this git and then finish getting ready. I shouldn't be more than a few minutes.”

“Don’t believe him, Harry,” Weasley said. “It takes this ferret hours to get ready.”

Harry smiled. And then his eyes narrowed, and he looked at Draco. “Ferret?”

Draco smiled. “Why do you think I was so surprised when you called me a ferret the other night? It’s something that only those that know me call me.”

“And I've only known you for a week.” Harry couldn't keep the suspicion out of his voice.

“Trust me, Potter,” Draco said, ushering him into another room. “I am unforgettable.”

“It was good to see you,” Weasley called after them and Harry just managed to say, “Yeah,” before Draco shoved him into the other room and shut the door.

The parlor was a bit larger than the receiving room he’d just been in. The couches and chairs were dark brown leather. He migrated toward another window and stared out over the city. The building hadn't been that tall, had it? Maybe the short part had only been a reception area. But he was only on the tenth floor! Harry thought the city was shimmering a little. Something on the glass. It made him slightly dizzy, so he turned away. His anxiousness at finally seeing Draco but being unable to touch him drove him in a circuit of the room.

God, Draco was confusing, but who was this Weasley guy? Harry was sure that he knew him, but if what he had said about never being in the US before was true, then how was that possible? The fact that he felt sure that he knew Weasley just as much as he knew Draco was odd.

Who were these people?

 _Stop being paranoid,_ he shouted in his mind. _What, did they do just erase your memories?_

He scoffed. That wasn't possible. No. He didn't know either of them. He was so attracted to Draco because of the allure of dating a gorgeous English bloke. And Weasley, being an associate of his, was just causing a similar residual effect.

Harry stopped at the bookshelf. It only had three shelves and came to his waist. He read a few of the titles on the top row. _Arithmancy, Ancient Runes in Egyptian Tombs, The Subtle Art of Divination._

What kind of nut job was this Draco?

The second shelf held a few more oddly titled books, but there were also financial books on how to run a company and keep ahead of the rest of your competitors.

It wasn't until Harry got to the bottom shelf that he was tempted to grab a book. He stared at the title, shook his head, read it again, and then finally reached for it.

“Potter,” Draco said behind him.

Harry stood up quickly with the book in his hand. “What’s Quidditch?”

“Quidditch?”

Harry swore he heard Draco’s voice hitch with nerves.

“Yes, Quidditch. This book, _Quidditch Through the Ages_. What is Quidditch?”

Draco took the book from him, eyes furrowing as he looked at the title. Then he smiled. “I don’t know what you've been taking, Potter, but this says quilting.”

Harry snatched the book back. _Quilting Through the Ages_. He shook his head, looked again. “I could have sworn—”

“You must be tired. Do you want to call off dinner and just stay here?”

Harry looked up to the wide, innocent grey eyes of Draco. He finally smiled. “Like I’d get any rest if we stayed here.”

“That’s the point.”

Suddenly, Harry had an armful and mouthful of Draco. He flung the book on the nearest sofa and wrapped his arms around the lithe body. Draco’s hands went under the sport coat and started rubbing circles on Harry’s lower back. The groan from his mouth was overshadowed by the rumbling of his belly.

Draco pulled back and laughed. “Dinner first, then.”

“Sounds good.”

“Come on.” Draco took his hand.

Of everything that they had done together, this felt the most awkward. It shouldn't have, to Harry’s understanding, they were on a date. Didn't dates hold hands? He’d certainly held hands on a first date before. It felt awkward more because it was Draco’s hand he was holding.

Harry thought that his mind might implode if he kept thinking about the inconsistencies and discomfort that Draco caused within him.

Draco led the way to the elevator. In the lobby, Draco threaded his arm around Harry’s shoulders and pulled their bodies together. Harry automatically leaned against him. “Have a good night, Kyle,” he called to the receptionist without looking at him. Harry looked though. There was pure hatred in the kid’s eyes.

As soon as they were out of the door and out of sight from Kyle, Draco went back to merely holding hands.

“Trouble with the hired help?” Harry asked with a grin.

Draco shrugged. “The kid wants in my trousers and won’t take no for an answer.”

“I guess it makes me feel better that you don’t say yes to everyone.”

“I’m not a slut.”

“Then why me? You don’t even know me.”

“Okay, so I’m sort of a slut, but I do have standards. You exceed those standards by a long shot.”

Draco managed to snag a cab and told the driver to take them to Benoit, a posh French restaurant. 

Harry whistled. “You’re going to spoil me.”

“For as long as you’ll let me.”

Draco pulled Harry closer, and Harry snuggled into him. Draco put his arm around him. The cab driver snorted. Draco tensed, so Harry put a reassuring hand on Draco’s knee. Again, the closeness of this felt a bit awkward. Not the positioning, Harry loved having his body mold right into Draco’s, almost as if it was supposed to be there. But was it Draco that was supposed to be there? Why did Harry feel like this whole thing was wrong, while at the same time, it felt so right?

Draco paid the cab driver, but tipped him less than he would have had it not been for the scoff. Draco put his arm back with Harry’s and a host opened the doors for them.

“Bonsoir, Monsieur Malfoy,” he said.

Draco returned the greeting in French and then continued the conversation. Harry stared wide eyed at him, but then remembered that of course Draco spoke French. His family was French.

“Did you tell me your family is French?” Harry demanded as soon as they were seated.

“I must have, if you know that.”

Another waiter came, and there was another foreign conversation. Harry figured out that Draco was ordering wine. He turned back and smiled. “I take it you don’t speak French.”

“I barely speak English,” Harry replied.

Draco chuckled. “Well, the menus are in French. What do you want?”

“Steak and potatoes and pasta and—”

“Stop, you plebeian. How about I just order something close to that, but with a French twist?”

Harry licked his lips. “Sounds great,” he said, his voice dropping lower.

“You’re the one that wanted dinner first.” Draco shifted, and his legs entwined with Harry’s under the table. “So, is this going to be the 'let’s get to know one another' game that you didn't want to play the other night?”

“Sure.”

“You go first.”

“Why do I have to go first?” Harry asked.

“Because you always do,” Draco replied and licked his lips.

“How do you know?”

“I intend to find out.”

Harry shook his head. “Stop making innuendos, alright? I am hungry. If you eat fast, you’ll have plenty of time for me to go first.”

Draco chuckled. “Fine, I’ll go first. Ask me a question.”

Harry pondered that. Any question. Well, he knew which one he wanted to ask, but knew that Draco wouldn't talk about it. “What’s your favorite color?”

Draco snorted, and that smirk of his slid into place. “Green or silver. Yours?”

“Red.”

An eyebrow arched. “Next.”

“What’s your favorite movie?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Merlin, Harry, what are we, fifteen?”

“Who’s Merlin?”

Harry saw Draco’s quick look down. He leaned back, arms crossed when Draco cleared his throat.

“You know, Merlin. Taught King Arthur.”

“The wizard guy. Yeah. I can’t say I've ever heard his name used as a curse word.”

“Must be a British thing.”

 _You must be lying,_ Harry thought, but kept his mouth shut. Silence settled for a moment. 

The wine came. Draco took a big swallow of his. Harry sipped at his glass as Draco had another foreign conversation.

More silence, and then Draco demanded, “Well, are you going to ask me anything else?”

“No more preschool questions?”

“No.”

Harry nodded and asked his question. “Why is your father in prison?”

Anger flashed through Draco’s gray-blue eyes. The hand clutching his wine glass went even paler. He couldn't quite pull up the mask of indifference.

Sensing that he wasn't going to get anything from Draco, Harry continued, “I told a co-worker about you, and she told me about how he got into it with some crime lord or something.”

Draco’s nostrils flared. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Well, what—”

“None of your business, Potter. I run the company without him, and as long as I’m still making money and doing it slightly legally, no one can touch me. Leave it.”

Draco tried to yank his legs away from Harry’s, but he tightened his hold. “Fine. I've left it. So let’s talk about you then. Brothers and sisters?”

“Only child. You?”

“Same here. Your mother—”

“Is still in London. Yours?”

“Dead. My parents died in a car crash when I was only one.” Harry pointed to the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. “I got hit with a single piece of glass. I grew up with my aunt and uncle.”

“They must have spoiled you rotten.”

Harry scoffed. “Far from it. I don’t know how I managed to not go insane. I don’t know how they managed not to kill me.”

“What do you mean?”

It was Harry’s turn to scowl. “Look, they weren't nice to me, just drop it.”

Draco nodded. “Sounds like we both had fucked up childhoods.”

“What? You? Only child of Lucius Malfoy? Seems like you would have been spoiled rotten.” Harry couldn't quite keep the disdain from his voice as he said that name.

“Oh, I was,” Draco said, eyeing him carefully, “but material possessions only go so far. Growing up without love, being used as a mean to an end, is always rotten.”

Harry was saved having to reply to that by the arrival of their food. Harry took a bit of something with sauce on it, and muttered, “I need to start eating more French food.”

“You need to start eating more French food, you need to start bottoming more. Merlin, Potter, you need to start living.”

Harry shook his head. The tension that had filled their pre-dinner conversation dimmed. They turned their topics to tamer things like soccer (It’s called football, Potter.) and football (Why do you call it football when only one guy touches the ball with his foot?). They went back to the movie question and graduated on to books and the news and politics and the economy.

They shared a French dessert called crème caramel.

Draco hailed a cab outside and snuggled up to Harry when they were safely ensconced inside. 

“Your place or mine?” Draco whispered.

Harry laughed. “Yours. Somehow I think I’ll be getting a healthier breakfast there.”

Draco told the cabby his address. Harry wasn't sure why his breath suddenly sped up. It wasn't from nerves, but … well, maybe it was nerves. Tuesday night had been a fluke, a way to blow off steam. Tonight. Tonight made it real. Definitely anticipation.

Harry was a bit surprised when the cab dropped them off back in front of Malfoy Enterprises. Draco lived there? He figured he had a separate place, like a high rise condo. Harry decided to wait until he asked about that. The annoying secretary had been replaced by a night guard. Draco greeted him by name and asked after his family.

“And Davis, this is Harry Potter. Any time he wants to come in, day or night, just let him. Don’t stun him.”

Davis grinned. “Sure thing, Mister Malfoy. I’ll put his name on the list of approved visitors.”

They rode the middle elevator to the tenth floor. Harry counted the seconds and thought again that the ride took longer than ten floors. Draco led them through the receiving room where Harry had met that Weasley guy and into a doorway opposite from the parlor. His mind briefly thought about that strange book he thought he saw and then he stopped in his tracks.

He stood on the top of a three stair landing. The entire area was open. The stairs led to a comfortable looking seating area with a large screen TV on the wall and suede couches around it. Across this area and up three more stairs, there was a dining room with dark wooden table and chairs. An immaculate kitchen with beautiful, stainless steel apliances. Draco headed there. It wasn't until he was half way across the huge expanse that Harry followed.

“Have a seat,” Draco said, and indicated one of the bar stools on one side of a kitchen counter. He practically fell into the seat and watched Draco go to a wine fridge and pull out a bottle. He stretched to reach two wine glasses from a cupboard. Harry’s mouth went dry as he watched Draco’s lithe muscles shift under his clothes. Draco poured the wine and Harry downed half of it in the first gulp.

“God, Potter, were you never taught propriety?”

“You should know the answer to that since we know each other so well.”

Draco smirked and sipped at his wine. “I’ll take that as a no then.”

“This is a nice place,” Harry said in the silence.

Draco shrugged. “It’s not home.”

“Where’s home?”

“I’m British, remember? The Malfoy Estate is in Wiltshire, west of London.”

“Right.”

“What about you? Where’s home?”

“New York City. Born and raised.”

“I think home should be where your family is.”

“I don’t have one of those.”

“Maybe not in the father mother brother sense of the word. Your friends can be your family.”

“You’re going all philosophical on me, Malfoy.”

Draco sort of grinned. “Yeah.”

“My friends are all here in New York, so like I said, this is home.”

Draco made a face. “England is much nicer.”

“I bet.”

“But I didn't drag you out of that restaurant to play the 'getting to know you' game.”

Harry laughed.

Draco downed his wine and then stalked around the counter to Harry. Harry gulped his wine and set the glass on the counter. He turned to meet Draco and his legs automatically spread so Draco could press against him.

Their lips met in a slow kiss. Harry’s earlier assessment of this being real and not a fluke came again. He marveled at the irony of finding something real with Draco, and then pushed that thought away. It didn't make sense. Except that he’d only known Draco for a week. There’s no way he could convince himself that this feeling was for forever.

“I love kissing you,” Draco murmured against his lips. He grabbed his hand and led him down a hallway, past a few doors and then opened the one at the end of the hall. The master suite, Harry immediately presumed. The king sized bed and doorway leading to a gorgeous bathroom gave it away.

“Fuck, Malfoy. This room is bigger than my entire apartment.”

“I was born into money, and my job makes more than yours,” Draco said with a small smile.

“Does that make you better than me, then?” Harry tried to keep the accusation out of his tone, but he couldn't help it.

“Of course not. You have a hero complex and save people. All I do is sit around and let the numbers in the bank account grow.”

Harry sighed and shook his head. He had no reason to feel inferior to Draco. None at all. He liked his job. He was a good cop. Then why did it rankle him so much that Draco was rich?

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can go to your place.”

Those words sounded like a challenge. Harry bristled and looked away.

Draco walked up to him and touched his arm gently. “Are you all right?”

Harry jerked away. Why was he so angry with Draco? It wasn't his fault that he was a pampered, spoiled, rich kid. Why did this tiny detail, that Draco was rich and he wasn't, make him so mad and ready to spout off curses and tell Draco to go fuck himself?

“Potter?” There was an edge to that, concern.

Draco was concerned about him? Now that was definitely weird. He looked up into Draco's eyes and saw the truth behind the concern. Harry took a deep breath.

“Sorry,” Harry whispered. He reached up and laced his fingers with the hand that had touched his shoulder. Deep breaths, deep breaths.

“Don’t tell me I've gone and spoiled this already,” Draco whispered. “I don’t want you to disappear again.”

Harry didn't want to disappear again.

_Disappear from what?_

He shook his head, trying to clear it. Harry brought the hand he held up to his mouth and kissed the palm, and then each finger. He pulled Draco closer, snaking his other arm around his waist. They kissed again.

Harry tried to bring back the passion from that brief moment in the kitchen. It wasn't hard with Draco’s body firmly pressed into his.

“Sorry,” Harry whispered. “Just fighting some inner demons.” What demons, he had no idea, but somehow they had to do with Draco.

“ Aren't we all?” Draco muttered and with their still entwined hands, walked them towards the bed.


	4. A Plethora of Emotions

Disclaimer: These definitely aren't mine. Characters and the plots of the Harry Potter series are property of JK Rowling.  


\-----/-----

Chapter 4: A Plethora of Emotions

Without more words, Draco gestured Harry to sit. Harry did, and then his eyes shut as those long fingers explored his face, tracing along his lightning scar and a few others on his cheek and neck. He made a small sound of protest when soft lips followed the fingers, but he couldn't move. He waited, breath gasping in the silence as Draco kissed his face. The kisses continued along his jaw and down his neck. Nimble fingers danced under the collar of the jacket, moving toward shoulder and down his arms. Harry shrugged out of it as Draco’s mouth licked up the shell of his ear.

Did Harry want this? He scoffed internally. Duh. But like this? So gentle, so hesitant. It was almost like Draco was just waiting for him to realize that he hated Draco, and then bolt. But he didn't hate Draco. He didn't know Draco well enough to hate him. There was something there that definitely wasn't lust or affection. A bit of annoyance perhaps, but nothing as strong as hate.

Draco demanded a kiss that broke Harry’s thoughts. The soft fingers turned to groping hands and Harry’s sweater was removed. Draco pushed Harry back onto the bed. And then the softness came back. Harry, with his feet still on the floor, spread his legs as Draco slithered down his body and ended up kneeling. Those pale fingers lightly teased his nipples, while those soft lips and tongue explored his chest and stomach. Harry groaned a protest.

Malfoy on his knees. Harry didn't think it was possible.

“Fuck, Draco.”

“Ah, I see I’m doing my job right if you’re already cursing my name.”

Draco moved his fingers to Harry’s pants. “I love these trousers, Harry,” he said as his fingers unclasped them. “They’re even tailored to fit you properly.”

“What’s the line?” Harry gasped. “They’ll look better on your floor?”

Draco laughed. “Let’s see about that.”

His socks and shoes were removed and then he lifted up a bit so Draco could remove his pants. 

Draco clicked his tongue. “You’re right. They do look better there. Although, it’s missing something. Ah ha!” Rough hands grabbed the band of his boxer briefs and Harry was suddenly naked.

“Perfect,” Draco crooned. “Now the pants and trousers can canoodle happily on the floor while I have my way with you on the bed.”

Harry laughed and scooted up on the bed. “I can’t believe you just said canoodle.”

“Yeah, a bit out of character for me,” Draco said and followed after him, kneeling between his spread legs. “What can I say? I’m picking up your plebeian ways.”

Harry’s laughter turned to a quiet moan as Draco blew gently on his exposed erection. “Oh, fuck.”

Draco’s lips just barely pressed against the warm skin of Harry’s cock. The tip of his tongue barely touched him. Harry arched up into with a loud moan, but Draco pulled away. He settled fingers on his thighs and stroked loose circles, up to each side of his cock and then further along his stomach. Again, his soft lips followed, first up one side and then the other. Harry thought he was going to come right then.

“Oh, God, Draco.”

“I haven’t even started yet,” he breathed and then ran his tongue up Harry’s cock.

Harry arched up with a ragged moan. “Then fucking start, more, god, please more.”

His tongue wrapped around the pliant head and then his mouth followed, sucking lightly while his hand stroked the length. Harry keened. His knees bent, toes clenching the overly expensive sheets. Draco only teased for a few seconds, and then he pulled away, Harry took a deep breath of relief. His orgasm cooled enough that he wouldn't embarrass himself. Draco laid his body on top of Harry’s and their lips met. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and lowered him to his back.

Draco smiled and said, “Don’t you wish there was a way to just banish my clothes so I could be naked already?”

“I could tear them off,” Harry said, reaching for the shirt. “That’ll be quicker.”

Draco caught his wrists. “Don’t you dare ruin my shirt, Potter.”

Harry laughed. “Then take it off.”

Draco rolled his eyes and shoved Harry away from him. Harry laughed and fell to his side, head propped up on his elbows. Draco sat up and unbuttoned his shirt. Harry enjoyed the revelation of all the pale skin. There were a few places on his back and chest and arms that were even lighter than the others. Scars. Harry knew what they looked like because of the ones that riddled his body. Their first round of sex hadn't included a slow exploration of bodies. Unable to help himself, he traced a very thin scar that ran along Draco’s lower back.

“Bad childhood, huh?”

Draco’s pale eyes held his for a moment and he nodded. “It is never a good idea to infuriate my father.”

“Men like that deserve to be in prison.”

“If it’s all the same to you, Potter,” Draco said while shucking off his pants and boxers. “I’d rather not discuss my father when you’re lying naked in my bed.”

Harry chuckled. “Sorry. What did you call it, a hero complex?”

“Well, you've already saved me, so really, can you give me an orgasm now?”

Harry frowned. “Saved you?”

Draco smirked and crawled over to Harry and kissed him. “Yes, you did. Weasley, the daft bugger, was well on his way to cornering me into a meeting I didn't want to go to. Luckily for me,” Draco ran his finger up Harry’s chest and pressed him to the bed, “I had something planned.”

Harry continued to frown, thinking of the man straddling his waist, but as a child, just a boy being bent to his father’s ways. It was too easy to picture the arrogance, the slicked-back blond hair. The permanent smirk on his face. But it wasn't right to have to be like that at such a young age.

Draco kissed him, and Harry pulled away after only a press of lips. He lifted his hand and ran his fingers over the prominent scar across Draco’s chest. “I would have saved you then, if I could.”

Draco stared at him intensely.

Harry met his eyes.

“That particular scar,” Draco said, “was not given to me by my father, but a fellow classmate intent on seeing me dead.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Fuck, Draco, what kind of place is England? Lawless and full of barbarians?”

“Dueling is hardly barbaric. Unless you count this particular round of dueling.” Draco reached behind him and grabbed Harry’s dick.

Harry shut his eyes and moaned.

“Are you going to top tonight, Potter?”

“Are you going to call me Harry, Malfoy?”

“So I’m topping, then. Right. Flip over.”

Harry laughed and yanked Draco down to his lips for a kiss. Harry gave up control of the kiss right away. A large part of him still questioned the judgment in that, but it’d turned out pretty damn well the last time they fucked.

Draco pulled away. “Come on. I want to be inside you.”

Harry propped up on his elbows and twisted his waist. Draco moved far enough away that Harry could turn over. To his left, a drawer opened, and then shut, a bit quickly and Harry hadn't even felt Draco move. Harry turned his head, and looked at Draco, and Draco only smirked back, covering his fingers in lube.

Harry figured Draco was just as eager as he was and spread his legs a bit.

Two fingers pressed into his body and unlike last time, they didn't quiver or shake. Draco was in utter control of himself and Harry shut his eyes and felt it. This was more like it. Draco pumping his fingers in and out of Harry, stretched oh so slowly while Draco leaned over his body and chewed on the muscles of his back. Harry was certain he’d have a fair scattering of marks tomorrow.

Draco’s marks. Possessed and taken by Malfoy.

A tingle of caution coursed up his spine, and then Draco’s fingers twisted and a third joined the play and Harry moaned, and told his brain to shut up and enjoy the attention. Harry lifted his hips from the bed. Draco massaged his ass and spread his fingers.

“Just fuck me, Draco,” Harry begged into the bed. “Please.”

Draco chuckled. “Fine, although you’re taking this _in control from the bottom_ thing a bit far.”

“As if you don’t want to be fucking my ass right now.”

“Point.”

Draco slid his slick erection up and down the cleft of Harry’s ass. Harry mewled and bent his knees, drawing them under his body. Draco gripped his hip with one hand and used the other to position his cock. He pressed in slowly, pausing with just the head inside the tight ring of muscles. Harry moaned and thrust back, taking him further.

Draco cursed, gripped both of Harry’s ass cheeks and finished burying himself inside Harry.

Harry moaned, shifting his knees for a more comfortable position. “Move, you bloody wanker.”

Draco spanked him once, tearing a whimper from Harry’s throat, and then Draco moved, in and out, rolling his hips on the pull out and slamming back in roughly. Harry clawed at the pillow with one hand and his other curled around his cock and he stroked himself to the same tempo that Draco set. His ass clenched around Draco’s cock, and Draco muttered a litany of more curses, fighting not to speed up. Harry lost the fight and stroked his cock as fast as he could. His release teased him, ebbing and flowing with the motions.

“Damn it, Potter,” Draco snapped. “You’re ruining my finesse.”

“Fuck your finesse,” Harry replied and then moaned loud. “Harder, fuck me harder, Draco, please.”

Draco snorted and Harry almost collapsed to the bed as his orgasm shot from him and covered the highly expensive linens in white. Draco sped up and pumped in and out him for just a couple more minutes before shuddering through his own release.

Harry took a deep breath, smile on his face and didn't mind when Draco leaned over his back for a kiss. His hips jerked, cock moving in a slow drag in and out of his body.

“You’re not much of a foreplay kind of a guy, are you?” Draco asked.

Harry smiled and turned. Draco slipped from his body and he moaned. “Impatient.”

“Typical of your sort, I guess.”

“My sort?”

“Randy, horny, and roars like a lion when you come.”

Harry laughed and easily found a warm spot against Draco’s body. Draco ran his hands up and down Harry’s arm, pulling him close. “In a few minutes, you can foreplay me all you want. The first round is always too frantic.”

Draco smiled and their lips met in a short kiss. Harry buried his face in Draco’s neck and lay there. His breathing slowed and his skin stopped twitching.

“Potter?”

“Huh?”

“Do you ever pass judgment on someone, and then later realize that the person is nothing like you thought they’d be and you’re almost disappointed?”

Harry didn't bother opening his eyes, but he tightened his hold around Draco’s waist. “And what did you expect me to be?”

Draco didn't answer for a long time. Maybe it had been a hypothetical question.

“Broken,” Draco finally whispered. “I thought you’d be broken.”

“And yet you approached me anyway.”

“I have very poor judgment.”

“So getting involved with me was a mistake?”

“You have a horrible habit of putting words into people’s mouths, Potter.”

“You have a horrible habit of thinking you’re better than everyone else.”

Draco smirked. “I concede that, but no, it was not a mistake. My colleagues and hell, even my father, probably think it is, but I’m honestly happy.”

Harry tilted his head to the side. None of this made sense at all. But Harry needed to learn not to over analyze everything anyway. He pressed a kiss to the curve of Draco’s jaw. “I’m happy, too.”

“Lucky. You’re lucky.”

“I am.”

“You ready for round two?”

Harry laughed and pushed Draco to the bed. He straddled his lap, put his hands on his chest and said, “Is that a challenge?”

“Always.”

\--/--

Harry was alarmed again at how easy it was to fall asleep next to Draco.

Scattered dreams plagued him through the night. Blond hair. Lots of blond hair. Blood and a deep wound across a pale chest. Fire and wind. Again. Arms around his waist. Blinding pain tore through his forehead, in the dream, he thought, until he woke up and it was still there

“Potter.”

Harry turned his head and glared at Draco.

“Wow, what is that look for?”

Harry didn't know. Hate, loathing, things that he shouldn't feel when he was sharing a bed with a man. He rubbed his eyes.

“Nightmare,” Harry finally said. He flinched when Draco touched his back.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No. I’m not five. It was just a nightmare.”

Draco tugged on his arm. “Lie back down.”

Harry sighed and shook his head. “I’m going to go home.”

“Potter, it’s four in the morning.”

“And I won’t get back to sleep, and I have to be in the station at six.”

“On Saturday?”

“Criminals don’t catch themselves.”

“The stupid ones do.”

Harry smiled. “True.” He stood up and turned on the lamp on the bed stand.

“I can’t believe you’re actually leaving.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually complaining.”

“What?”

Harry didn't answer, because he didn't know. He felt like he hated Draco, hated him with a boiling fury and only stopped himself from killing him because it was against the law. He had no reason to hate Draco, none at all, but it was there. He couldn't even look at the man without wanting to gouge the pride out of his eyes.

He had to get away from him and alone and try to figure out his thoughts.

“Don’t make plans tomorrow,” Draco said. “I’ll pick you up for coffee.”

Harry sighed and slipped on his pants. “I can’t, Draco. I have to solve this case.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “She’s dead, you know.”

“I know. We need to find evidence to prove it.”

“You need to come back to bed and sleep in.”

“You need to let me do my job!”

Draco stared at him.

Harry muttered an apology for shouting.

“You don’t like me,” Draco said.

Harry looked away. “I don’t know you.”

“You know enough, and you don’t want to know more.”

“I’m really stressed out right now.” Harry found his sweater on the floor and pulled it on. He sat on the edge of the bed to put on his shoes. “I can’t … this is why I don’t get involved when I’m in the middle of a case. I get stressed out and take it out on people who are close to me. You don’t deserve it.”

“Neither do you.”

Cool fingers slipped under his shirt and along the top of his pants. Harry flinched. His emotions were so conflicted. The thought of Draco touching him disgusted him. But he craved it, and his smiles, and his stupid snarky British-ness.

“Nothing makes sense when it comes to you,” Harry said. “Just … let me work on this case, and I’ll call you.”

Draco snorted. “That’s a horrible way to tell someone to fuck off, Potter.”

Harry turned and stood up, and Draco’s hand fell to the bed. The blanket was barely covering his hips. His hair was a mess and in his face, and part of Harry wanted nothing more than to climb back in bed and turn those pale lips a deep red with kisses. Instead, he picked up his sport coat, slipped it on and headed for the door.

Draco huffed behind him and Harry heard him collapse on the bed, but Draco didn't call him back. Harry made his way through Draco’s ostentatious apartment and left. He barely noticed the trickling sensation down his back when stepping through the foyer. In the elevator, he shut his eyes, trying to figure out his emotions toward Draco. Resentment and hatred? Those didn't make sense. Harry didn't know him well enough to hate him. But the more he got to know him, the stronger this hate grew. But it didn't feel right. It felt superficial and habitual, sort of like how someone just hates a certain food. Or mosquitoes. Annoying pesky mosquitoes that you don’t mind swatting at when they land on you.

That sinking feeling of maybe actually knowing Draco came back. All the things he said that made it seem like they knew one another, all tossed away with a casual remark.

Harry didn't think he’d forget someone like Draco. Even as a one night stand.

“Good morning, Mister Potter,” the doorman said.

“Good morning, um sorry.”

“Davis.”

“Right. Good morning, Davis.”

“Do you need a cab?”

“No, thank you. I’m going to walk.”

“Have a nice walk, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Davis hit the buzzer and opened the door for Harry to exit.

It was a long walk, but Harry didn't care. It also unfortunately didn't clear his head at all and he was even more confused when he finally stumbled into his apartment. He showered and shaved and dressed for work. He grabbed his regular cup of coffee from the vendor on the corner and then lost himself in the case.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” Kat asked a few hours after lunch.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay. Then I’ll guess. Malfoy?”

Harry said nothing, but his mouth tightened.

“Date not go well?”

“The date went fine.”

“Oh, and?”

“And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You come too soon?”

Harry glared up at her smile. “No.”

“Talk, Potter.”

Harry sighed and threw his pen onto his desk. “I can’t shake this feeling that I know him. It’s making me anxious and I feel like he’s lying to me. I've always been a good judge of character, but he’s playing me and I hate it.”

“That is a lot of feelings all mixed together.”

“Yeah. And I keep having dreams about flying and fire and blood. I know those are work related, but Draco keeps popping up in them. But not this Draco but a younger Draco, like a teenager Draco.”

Kat raised an eyebrow.

“Please don’t make a perverted remark about that.”

Her lips quirked. “I wasn't going to.”

“Liar. It was almost like he was supposed to be there when all these dreams happened.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to solve this case so I can figure out what’s going on with Draco.”

“Do you know what I think, Harry?”

“What?”

“I think you’re afraid to let yourself like this guy. You've always been worried about having people close to you get hurt or afraid you’ll neglect someone because of your job. And now that you have someone that you really, really like, you’re making up excuses on why you shouldn't be with him.”

Harry scowled and went back to the list of places that they had already searched for more information on Barnes, cross checking it with the list of purchases made on his credit card over the last year.

“No defense.”

“No. That’s definitely part of it, but the rest of it … Draco irritates me beyond all reason, and he hasn't done anything to irritate me. I’m just confused.”

“Don’t discount your feelings, Harry. You are an excellent judge of character.”

Kat gripped his shoulder and then left him alone. Harry went back to work. Even if he was stressed and even if this case was frustrating, Harry knew better than to stick around the station for more than twelve hours a day. He knew better, but that didn't mean he went home at a decent time. It was almost nine when he walked up the stairs to his apartment.

And froze.

His door was open, forming a strand of light in the slightly darkened hallway. Harry pulled out his gun from under his jacket and disabled the safety. With a loose grip, he went down the hall on silent feet. His skin shivered, like he’d stepped through water. It was the same feeling when he’d been in Malfoy’s apartment.

Harry stopped, listening, waiting.

Nothing.

He moved to the edge of the door and stuck his head barely around the frame.

A noise. In the kitchen.

He pushed the door open. Senses on high alert, he went into his apartment, and movement to his left had him spinning and aiming his gun.

“Fuck, Potter.”

“Fuck, Malfoy,” Harry said and immediately pulled the gun up. He put the safety on. “How the hell did you get into my house?”

Draco rolled his eyes and said, “Your lock is horrible.”

“I have one of the best locks in the industry.”

“Did the locksmith tell you that?” he asked with that usual smirk and disdain.

“What are you doing here?”

Draco waved a hand over his shoulder, to where he’d moved Harry’s kitchen table. It was decorated with a tablecloth that Harry didn't own, two candles and two plates of dinner.

Harry waited to feel excited, but all he felt was annoyance. Okay, it was pretty sweet, but honestly.

“You don’t go breaking into people’s houses to make them dinner.”

“I don’t. I've only broken into your house to make you dinner.”

“Look, I appreciate it, really, but—”

“Bugger off, I get it.”

“This is … just--very--I don’t know. It’s not you, I know that.”

“How do you know that?” Draco asked.

“I don’t know. I just do! Why the hell—”

Draco held up a hand. “Do you want to eat first, or shower first? You've had a long day. Unproductive, too I warrant.”

“Yeah. I’m really too stressed out for this. I’m sorry.”

Draco smiled and moved into Harry’s space. He stiffened for a moment and then relaxed when Draco’s arms wrapped around his shoulders and he pressed a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “Go shower. I’ll be gone when you get out, I promise.”

Harry quickly hugged him. “No, I’m sorry. Don’t go.”

“You wear your emotions on your sleeve, Potter. I know where I’m not wanted.”

Harry pressed a swift kiss to his cheek, and then said, “Please stay. You went to all this effort and I truly appreciate it. Give me about fifteen minutes.”

“Just enough time to finish things up.”

Harry let him go and headed to the bathroom.

It was pretty sweet. He’d never had someone make him dinner for when he got home from work. He was still pissed at finding his home invaded, but he was even more pissed that it wasn't Barnes or someone out for revenge. He needed something to happen. Something soon. He was getting more anxious and irritable as the days went by without a break in the case.

The light was off in his bathroom, and instead there were two lamps, one by the sink the other on the back of the toilet. The light was dim, but enough to see what he needed to see. A brand new, soft bathmat was on the floor and matching towels hung on the rack. A deep red bathrobe was hanging from a hook on the back of the door.

There was a note on the counter, written on thick, fancy paper, like what they would use in the time of castles and dungeons. The writing was, of course, in perfect, flowing script.

 _Potter Darling_ \---

Harry snorted.

_I took the liberty of replacing the shit you use to wash your hair and body. Consider it a gift if you must, but really, it’s more of a necessity. You don’t have to thank me, although, to show your gratitude, I would accept the chance of running my hands through that unmanageable mop of hair after it has been conditioned properly._

_Sincerely,  
Draco Malfoy_

“Ponce,” Harry said affectionately.

With the dim lights, and the warm water, and the new soap and the new towels and the bathrobe, Harry felt more relaxed than he ever had after he’d taken a shower. He left the bathroom in nothing but the bathrobe and found Draco at the table sipping on a glass of wine. Harry did not have wine in his apartment.

Harry took the glass of wine from his fingers and downed the rest of it. He set the glass on the table, ignoring Draco’s noise of disdain and mutter about savoring something so pure. And whatever else he said was lost in a kiss and Draco’s clothes were discarded somewhere between the chair and the floor, and Harry’s new robe was soft on his back, a comfortable barrier between his skin and the carpet.

And Harry let Draco take his time. Let Draco play and tease, until Harry was breathless, his knee hooked on Draco’s shoulder, body arching into each of his gentle thrusts while he covered his chest in come.


	5. A Soul of Confusion

Disclaimer: These definitely aren't mine. Characters and the plots of the Harry Potter series are property of JK Rowling.  


\-----/-----

Chapter 5: A Soul of Confusion

When Harry woke up with pale arms around his waist, his first thought was that it was way too bright in his room to be the time that he normally woke up. His second thought was that yes, Draco was an arrogant shit, but hate really was too strong of a word to describe the emotions the other man consistently tore from Harry’s mind and heart. Accurate, but too strong.

They’d made it to the bed sometime in the night, and Harry turned around and watched Draco sleep until he couldn't help but touch. He ran his hands through Draco’s hair, tugging on it lightly.

“Sleeping,” Draco muttered.

Harry chuckled. “You turned my alarm off.”

“So what? You needed to sleep.”

“Why do you care?” Harry asked.

Draco opened an eye and raised a single eyebrow. Talented for being half asleep.

Harry figured it was a natural Malfoy trait and had been passed on through the generations. “I didn't mean that to sound so bitchy. I just don’t understand why you care so much about me.”

“Just trying to get into your knickers, Potter.”

Harry laughed and pressed a kiss to Draco’s cheek.

“Are you going to be an arse and get up, or do what I want, and go back to sleep?”

Harry shifted away from him. “Get up. But only for a moment. I need to check my phone for messages.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“The criminals don’t take a day off, remember?” Harry left the bedroom naked and stopped in the bathroom. He went to the main room and found his phone, the battery mostly dead, in the pocket of his jacket. He had three missed calls from Kat, but no new messages, and only one text message.

_The only reason why I will not be mad that you aren't here is because you’re with Malfoy._

Harry smiled and sent back: _Do you need evidence?_

_Oh fuck yes!!!!!_

Harry sauntered to the room.

Draco was propped up on the bed, flipping through a newspaper. The way he was turning the pages made it look like the pictures were actually moving. Harry also figured that he was seeing things because he didn't have his glasses on.

Harry lifted his phone and snapped a picture of Draco’s chest on display, the sheet riding low on his hips, before Draco could move. The paper fell to the floor.

Draco glowered at him. “What the bloody hell, you wanker! I’m naked.”

“And perfect,” Harry said and sent the picture.

“Well, of course, I am. You don’t need a picture to prove it.”

“Calm down. I’m just letting my boss know why I won’t be in to work today.”

Draco smiled and flung the blankets to the side. “Get your hot arse in this bed and apologize for spoiling a perfectly good dinner last night.”

Harry crawled into the bed and said, “I’m sure dinner would have been perfectly good, but I have a feeling that breakfast is going to be amazing.”

“Corny, as always,” Draco muttered just before their lips met, and Harry stopped thinking about the _what-could-have-beens, maybes, whys_ and _how-comes_ , and just let himself fall into Draco.

\---/---

Harry went into the station a little after noon. Draco said he had a conference call to deal with in London before business hours the next day. While getting reading to go, Draco talked on his phone to an associate, told whoever it was to hold on a moment and spent ten minutes giving Harry a goodbye kiss. His parting shot was, “You owe me dinner.”

At the station, Sorenson and Kat gave him hell for the picture he’d sent, and for the prominent limp in his step. And the fact that he had a murderer loose and no leads but he couldn't stop fucking smiling.

“He’s good for you,” Kat said. “Gorgeous. Arrogant. Witty. He balances you out in a way that I don’t think anyone else will.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“Neither do you,” Kat pointed out. “Isn't that what you’re always trying to convince yourself of?”

Harry sighed, and then smiled. “You think he’s good for me?”

“Yes. Do I think you’re scared to let him get too close? Maybe a little. Let yourself fall in love, Harry.”

Harry smiled and went back to work.

Harry spent the night at Draco’s, and then Draco spent the night at his apartment. By the next weekend, they hadn't slept alone, and Harry was afraid that Kat was right about the love thing.

\---/---

The boiling feeling of anger and hatred toward Malfoy lessened slightly. Malfoy was everything Harry knew he would be: arrogant, conniving, shrewd.

Still, there were little things that kept Harry from relaxing completely around Draco. The little bits of affection he showed toward Harry felt displaced. The feeling of knowing Draco grew and grew. Sometimes when he was with Draco, he felt like two different people. There was this angry Harry who hated him, and then there was the loving Harry who couldn't get enough of him.

And it was so hard to ignore his dreams. They increased, to at least one a night, sometimes two or three. The details sharpened, and most of them had Draco in them. One day, he’d run into that Weasley guy at Draco’s office, and then that night, the redhead was in his dreams. But again, it was odd. It was back in time. When they were teenagers.

Harry thought he was going crazy.

It didn't help that the Barnes case was going nowhere and his eighteen-year-old girlfriend was just another missing person. Harry had another week before Randall filed the case as unsolved and went on to more pressing matters.

“You’re jumpy,” Draco said one night and handed Harry a glass of wine. Harry had a small wine rack now, compliments of Draco. He didn't dare buy anything to put on it, but Draco kept it stocked.

Draco sat next to Harry on the small sofa and Harry lifted his arm and Draco settled against his side and curled his legs up, feet under the couch cushion.

Harry sipped on his wine. “Do you think I’m slacking?”

“Definitely not.”

“I mean outside of the bedroom.”

He knew Draco was smirking. “Is there anything else you’re good for?”

“I’m serious. I've never not solved a case before. I hate this kind of stress. I know this girl is dead, I know she is, and I hate that I can’t convict the son of a bitch who killed her.”

Draco turned his head up and kissed Harry’s jaw. “You don’t have to be perfect, Potter.”

“You don’t have to keep calling me Potter, Malfoy.”

Draco smiled and licked Harry’s earlobe. “Harry.”

Harry shivered. He set his wine glass on the coffee table and shifted. Draco pushed him to the couch and crawled over him. He kissed Harry’s lips, whispering his name again, and then breathing it against his neck and collarbones. Harry didn't know why it was so important, but it was, and when Draco moved his shirt to whisper it against his bellybutton, Harry knew that he was in love. No way out of it.

Harry pulled his shirt over his head, and then did the same with Draco’s. They weren't wearing much else and Draco peeled his clothes off and kissed down his legs, whispering _Harry_ into his skin over and over. Harry wrapped his hand around his dick and stroked, eyes shut, enjoying the worship. Draco lifted his leg to his shoulder and Harry’s back arched off the couch when two fingers pressed inside him. Harry lifted his other leg, holding behind his knee and Draco lowered his head and sucked Harry’s cock into his mouth.

Harry squirmed, whimpering and pleading. One hand settled in Draco’s hair and he pulled lightly. “Draco, stop, I … fuck me, oh god, please fuck me.”

Draco pulled away from his cock with a smirk. “You really don’t have to beg me to fuck you, but I like hearing it anyway.”

Harry laughed. “Please, please, please. I want to feel your cock inside me.”

Draco visibly shivered, and he reached for the lube on the coffee table. In Harry’s lust-filled mind, it looked almost like the bottle had jumped into his hand.

Harry put his leg on the back of his couch and kept a hold of his other knee. Draco poured lube right on his body and pumped three fingers in and out of him, stretching him quickly. They’d fucked earlier in the day, so it wasn’t difficult for Harry to be ready. Draco tossed the lube aside, shifted closer, and yanked Harry to him, so his hips were on Draco’s thighs. Draco held his cock down and pressed into him slowly.

Harry moaned, back arching again. He wrapped his leg around Draco’s waist and pulled him down for a kiss. Their lips stayed together and Draco thrust into him, slow and firm. It wasn’t a frantic race to come this time. Just two bodies, moving together, growing pleasure together, and releasing together. Ten minutes, and then twenty, and then a half hour and Harry didn’t want it to ever end. He never wanted Draco away from his body. Even after exhaustion stole them after a third orgasm, Harry did not want to get up. He refused to let Draco pull out of him and they wrapped up together on the couch.

Entwined and sated, Draco dozed off, breath steady against Harry’s chest. Harry held him tightly. The intensity of love and the ache in his heart changed to confusion and irritation.

It should not have been this easy to hold Draco. It should not have been this easy to toss away their differences.

Harry tried to think of what it would have been like if they had met when they were younger. He doubted they would have been friends. Draco was so arrogant. Nothing Harry did or said would have been good enough. He wouldn’t have had any money or any rich friends. They probably wouldn’t have even gone to the same school because of that. Teachers would have loved Draco’s perfect handwriting compared to Harry’s messy scrawl. Draco would turn his assignments in on time and be in class on time. A perfect student. Maybe not the teacher’s pet, because his pride would get him good grades, but his disdain for the teachers wouldn’t win him any points.

_Points. Points._  
Always worrying about the points.  
“Mr. Potter, late again. Always late. Ten points from Gryffindor. Tomorrow it will be fifty.”  
Draco smirking, cronies laughing. Always laughing, and Harry wants to reach for a weapon and blow his head off.  
“Leave it, Harry,” a girl’s voice says.  
It’s not worth it. It’s never worth it.  
Why did I save him? Why didn’t I let him burn? Why why why why?  
Flames lick up a wall, wide, panicked, eyes beg him and Harry has to save him. It’s what he does. It’s that damn hero complex. He will never let him win at Quidditch. Never let him close enough to be friends, but he won’t let him die. Not after that … not after the blood.  
Blood flies, slash after slash after slash over Draco’s ribs.  
Harry did it. He did it, because he hates him. He hates his pale hair and he hates how obsessed he is with Draco. Harry screams and screams and watches Draco die again and again 

“Harry, Harry.”

Harry sat up, confused and disoriented. Draco’s face was near his, and Harry scowled at him and moved away. He was on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. He scuttled back away from Draco. He wasn't dead. That was good.

Right?

No, not good. Draco wasn't a good person. He was a pompous, all mighty git.

_And yet you saved him. More than once. Why?_

Harry gripped his hair and moaned. He was aware of Draco talking to him.

“Shut up, just shut up.” Harry didn't look at him, but scrambled to his feet and tore through the living room, finding his clothes.

“Harry,” Draco said in worry.

“Shut up, god, Malfoy just shut the fuck up. I hate you, I hate you so much and I don’t even know why.”

“Do you want to know why?”

Harry stopped and glared at him, pants unbuttoned, arms in the sleeves of his t-shirt. They stared at each other, and Harry wondered suddenly why Draco was so calm.

“It doesn't surprise you to hear me say that I hate you,” Harry said.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“A lot of people hate me.”

Harry stared at him, and then snorted and finished dressing. He went to the door to put on his shoes.

“You really hate me?”

Harry paused and almost said no, and then that anger flared toward Draco. He didn't understand it.

“You have to have a reason.”

“I …” Harry stopped and made the mistake of looking at him. So calm. So collected. He wasn't surprised that Draco was taking this so well. Draco never showed his emotions. Ever.

“I just hate you. It’s so deeply ingrained in my body that I can’t … This has been surreal and … I just … I don’t know, Draco, I’m sorry. I …”

“It’s okay. I understand.”

Harry scowled at his apartment door, fist clenching by his side. He felt like a teenager again. An angry, conflicted teenager who had to save the world. He tried to remember junior high. Tried to remember high school. Really remember it. And the memories flit through his mind like they always did, but they didn't feel real. Sitting in the classes, doing homework, fighting off the bullies because he was gay.

None of it felt as real as his hatred toward Draco. None of it felt as real as the fear that slammed through him when Draco was bleeding in that weird bathroom in his dreams. He was glad it wasn’t real. Glad it was just a dream.

Was it just a dream?

Harry looked over at Draco and then walked over to him. He had put on his slacks, but they were unbuttoned, showing the top of his boxers.

Harry grabbed Draco’s arm and said, “Who did this?” His fingers traced the familiar path over the deep scars.

Malfoy tilted his head in question. “Why?”

“Tell me who did it.”

Draco shrugged and was suddenly out of Harry’s grasp and about two feet away from him. “You can’t go on some vindictive quest and arrest him. It was a long time ago, and he’s a different person now.”

“Who did it?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why does it matter so much to you, Harry?”

“Just tell me who did it!”

Draco stared at him and said, “I told you. A classmate. It was my fault, and it wasn’t his. I would have done worse to him had he not been faster than me. He was always just a bit faster than I was. He took his frustrations on me. But like I said. He’s a different person now, and so am I.”

Harry turned away from him.

A classmate. In school.

“He hated me. I hated him. It happens at prestigious, private schools. People get jealous, they form unnecessary hatreds and rivalries that expand into their adult lives. And they aren’t easily forgotten.”

“I’m not jealous of you,” Harry snapped.

Draco stared at him. “No, I suppose you’re not.”

“That hurt,” Harry said, pointing to his chest again.

“Well, duh, Potter. A slashing like this one would definitely hurt. I was in the hospital for a long time.”

“And the other boy, he wasn’t—”

“It’s a different world, Harry. Different in so many ways. The boy who did this was provoked. I knew it. He knew it. And he was the Headmaster’s favorite. It was brushed under the rug as school boy rivalries.”

Harry shook his head. “That’s wrong.”

“Again. A different world.”

“Are you friends with this boy now?”

Draco smirked. “Partially. It’s hard to forget the hatred we held for each other for so long.”

Harry nodded, and then headed to the door. “If I were you, Malfoy, I would want to forget.”

“Forget what?”

Harry turned just his head and met his eyes. “Forget everything. Forget your father, forget your past, forget your business. We’re happy with our lives sometimes, but it’s too painful to remember.”

“Do you wish that you could disappear then?”

“Maybe.”

“And if you did, who would save everyone?”

Harry thought about that for a moment and then replied, “They can find someone else to do it, can’t they?”

“Probably. But it won’t be the same.”

“Why do I feel like we’re talking about two different things?”

“I don’t think we are. Are you leaving?”

Harry swallowed roughly and then he nodded. “I’m sorry, Draco, I … I can’t do this. I don’t want to remember. I need to go clear my head, but please, don’t be here when I get back. Please.”

Draco sighed. “Okay, Harry.”

Harry left his apartment. He didn’t want to remember. But what didn’t he want to remember?

\---/--

One day without Draco turned to two and then three and then a week. The dreams plagued him, increased in detail and severity. There were more people, more blood, and more bodies. They were fantasies that included witches and dragons and castles. Brightly colored sparks flying from pieces of wood. They all ended in fire and blood and death. War. So much death.

Harry woke up crying or screaming on more than one night, and he mumbled to himself over and over that he didn’t want to remember.

At work, he was the pinnacle of professionalism. He once again filed a search warrant for Barnes’s office and for his house and captured two new laptops. Neither search got him close to solving the case, but Randall kept the case open.

Harry should have been more surprised when he opened his door one day and found Draco standing in the hall.

“What?”

Draco raised his eyebrows, and Harry sighed and moved to the side to let him in.

“What?” he asked, a little less demanding.

“This is ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is. You didn’t even break up with me.”

“I tell you that I hate you and that I don’t want to remember you and you imply that isn’t breaking up with you?”

“You never said you didn’t want to remember me.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

Harry glared at him. “Because I don’t.”

“Too painful?”

“Too confusing. You’re confusing me.”

“I think you’re confusing yourself.” Draco reached into his pocket and pulled something out of it, but he kept his hand closed. “You need to remember, because if you forget—”

“I don’t want to remember.”

“Do you think people will forget you? Do you think the people you have saved have forgotten you? Do you think the people you have helped as a police officer have forgotten you?”

“No, but that’s their problem.”

Draco stared at him for another moment and then went by him. He put something on his side table, and then stormed out and slammed the door without saying anything else.

Harry stood in the middle of his living room, breathing deeply. On his table, mixed with his car keys, badge and loose change was a golden ball. Harry moved over to it carefully and picked it up. It was lighter than he thought it would be and glimmered in the light. He remembered his dreams. The flying ones chasing something gold and glittery. He shook his head roughly. It was a dream.

There was an engraving on one side, written in fanciful script. _I open at the close._

Harry had no idea what it meant. He put the ball down and moved away from it.


	6. A Flood of Memories

Disclaimer: These definitely aren't mine. Characters and the plots of the Harry Potter series are property of JK Rowling.  


\-----/-----

Chapter 6: A Flood of Memories

“I did it, oh god, I did it, please don’t peel my skin off my body.”

Harry’s head snapped up at the cry as did every other officer’s in the station. Sorenson went toward the man that Harry immediately recognized as Barnes. He was wearing sweats and a t-shirt that was ripped in places. His smirk was gone, and his eyes were wild with alarm.

“Potter. Detective Potter, where is he?”

Harry stood up and Barnes lurched toward him, arms out, but he didn't make it far before two officers had him subdued on the ground. Barnes kept muttering, “I did it, I did it, please, I did it.”

The officer led him into an interrogation room.

Harry's eyes found Kat’s. She was just as surprised as he was.

“Why don’t all the bad guys do this?” Kat said.

Harry and a few others laughed. Harry quickly gathered his notes.

“Sorenson, go ask him some questions. Where is Randall?” Harry asked.

“Out at lunch.”

“Good. Fuck him.”

“Potter,” Kat said.

Harry gave her a loopy smile, and then went to the viewing room to see Barnes questioned.

Harry’s world went insane. Bella’s body was found right where Barnes said it would be, and there was enough evidence in and around the area to convict Barnes and the ex-boyfriend Mutton of the crime. His testimony didn't make sense at first, but when he realized that no one was willing to make a deal, he accepted his fate, confessed, and he was arrested and thrown in jail, and after two weeks of this sort of insanity, Harry had a chance to relax.

Or he tried.

Draco Malfoy and the golden ball plagued his mind. He stored the ball in a drawer, out of sight, but it kept popping up in his even more detailed dreams. Broomsticks and balls flying everywhere, walls of a castle bathed in gold and red banners. Lions and snakes. And always Draco. Across a crowded cafeteria full of children that looked nothing like the school cafeteria in Harry’s memories. Across a classroom. A smirk. Through an old village.

Harry wondered if voodoo was real.

When he started dreaming about Draco naked and Draco actually smiling at him, it was too much. Something was going on. He knew it, but how would he prove something that was all in his head? 

After waking up near tears again, Harry decided he wanted answers. He dressed enough to be decent and hailed a cab. He went to Malfoy Enterprises and Davis, the doorman, buzzed him in. It’d been almost three weeks since he had last seen Draco.

“Good almost morning, Mister Potter. I wasn't expecting you.”

“Sorry, Davis. I should have called. Is Malfoy here?”

“Yes, Mister Malfoy is here. Do you want me to buzz him and—“

“No, I’ll just go up.”

“Okay, Mister Potter.”

Harry hit the elevator and wondered if there wasn't a faster way to get from place to place. There had to be soon. One day, someone would learn how to teleport. The elevator door opened and Harry spent another long ride up to the tenth floor. They needed a faster elevator.

Harry stepped out of the elevator, and he was surprised to see lights on. A familiar feeling of water trickling over his shoulders made him pause in the front hall, and he stood there for a moment before the feeling stopped.

“Harry.”

“Why do I feel like two different people and why do I think you have something to do with it?”

Draco stared at him, and then smirked and gestured to his left. He walked in front, and Harry followed him into the elaborate apartment.

“Sounds like you need to talk to a psychiatrist. I thought capturing Barnes would get you back to making sense.”

Harry sat hard on the bar stool and put his face in his hands. “So did I, but …”

“But …” Draco prompted and poured Harry a tumbler full of amber whiskey.

Harry grunted his thanks and sipped at it, choking when it burned down his throat. “What the hell is this shit?”

Draco smirked again. “From Britain. _Ogden’s Old Firewhisky_. It has a bit of a kick to it.”

"No kidding." Harry raised the glass in a toast and downed the rest of it. Draco poured him another and against his better judgment he drank that one too.

“So,” Draco said, “you were blaming your psychosis on me?”

Harry took a very deep breath. “It feels normal to blame you for everything, so yeah. I don’t know why it feels normal to do that, but it does, so therefore, this is all your fault.”

Draco laughed. “So you haven’t come to beg for my affections?”

Harry snorted. “No. I still--I don’t know. I can’t explain how frustrating this is. I can’t stand people like you, Malfoy, but you’re different than … than what? Than before? I haven’t known you for long enough to know that you’re different than you were before, but when was that before?”

“ You've gone completely bonkers. Off your rocker.”

“Have I?”

“Well, not completely. Let me shag you one more time before they admit you into the psychiatric ward of Saint Mungo’s.”

“Saint Mungo’s?”

“It’s a hospital in London. Fancy a shag, Potter?”

Harry sighed. “Yeah, no thanks.”

“Too bad. You staying over?”

Harry looked up from the glass and met Draco’s eyes. He stared back, unflinching. It was an invitation. That was all. Nothing nefarious or sly in his gaze.

When had he gotten so suspicious of everything that concerned Draco? Again, it felt like it had always been this way.

“I didn't mean to wake you up,” Harry said.

“I wasn't asleep. I do business in London, remember? Someone called me an hour ago and I’ve been on the phone since then.”

“Oh.”

Draco put the dirtied glasses in the sink, and then walked around the bar. Harry turned to keep him in sight, and then stiffened when Draco moved between his legs. It was similar to his first night here, and so many nights after that, but the feeling was definitely different. 

Draco rubbed his hands on Harry’s thighs, nails catching on the tattered edges of denim. “No tricks, no perverseness. I will control myself.”

“I’ll sleep on your couch.”

Draco pouted and said, “That is unacceptable.”

“So is this,” Harry said and grabbed Draco’s wrists.

Draco flipped his hands so he was holding Harry’s wrists, and then started walking backwards. Harry could easily free himself, despite how strong Draco’s grip was, but he let himself be led into the bedroom.

“When was the last time you had a good, good sleep?”

“The last time you fucked me.”

“You’re welcome, but that was almost a month ago.”

“I know.”

“Sit.”

Harry sighed and obeyed. He didn't object when Draco pulled off his shoes and socks, or when his hands slid up his legs to take off his jeans. His cock was half hard, growing in his boxers, but Draco ignored it. He lifted his hand, paused for a moment, and then got up to douse the lights.

Harry shifted up on the bed, pulling the blanket over him. He was tense until Draco lay next to him, arm around his stomach, face at his neck, breathing softly.

“Sleep, Harry. You need to sleep.”

“I need to forget.”

“You’ve already forgotten.”

\---/---

_Black cloaked figures surround him. Others are fighting, shouts and cries echoing in his ears. Bodies lay strewn on the grounds of what he considers his home. They will all pay, even if he has to die for it. Even if he has to sacrifice himself, so that the rest can fight and win. He is evil. Neither can live while the other survives. He sees mouths move. Feels his own move in response, and then everything is green and his body falls to the ground._

\---/---

Harry woke up whimpering, body twisting and uncontrollable. He’d been dead. Completely and utterly dead. Wasn’t there a rule that if you died in a dream you died in real life?

Soft hands rubbed his forehead and arms. He focused on the pale face above him.

“Are you awake now?” Draco asked.

“Why aren’t I dead, Draco?”

Draco smiled. “Well, it isn’t because of a lack of trying, believe me.”

Harry shut his eyes and gripped Draco’s arms. “I don’t want to sleep anymore. I don’t want to dream. I don’t want to remember. Please. Don’t make me remember.”

“Why?”

“It hurts. God, Draco, it hurts so much.”

“What hurts?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Isn’t that good? That you don’t remember what hurts?”

“But I will. I don’t want to remember.”

Draco’s face was conflicted. “I don’t want you to remember either, but it’s too late anyway.”

“What’s too late?”

Draco ran his hand over Harry’s cheek. “You already remember that you hate me. Nothing else really matters to me. You could have died. You could have been gone forever. I didn't care about you at all when you disappeared.”

“Stop, please. Please. Stop talking.”

“Okay.” After a moment, Draco said, “I made you a cup of tea when you first started thrashing about and making it impossible for me to sleep.”

Harry turned to the nightstand. He rubbed his palms against his eyes and sat up against the headboard. He picked up the warm cup. He shut his eyes and sipped at the tea while dream after dream plagued his mind like they were memories. Everything was so real.

“It all feels so real,” Harry muttered.

“Dreams can be like that.”

Harry met his eyes. “Dreams or memories?”

Draco ran his hand on Harry’s arm, for comfort and Harry leaned against the headboard and put the tea down. Harry pulled Draco against his body, and Draco easily fell into his side, head tucked under Harry’s chin. Harry shut his eyes and squeezed too tightly.

It all seemed so real. Was this just part of his dream? What was reality? What about the man in his arms? What were they? Who had they been? Who were they now?

Why was Harry even considering that this was real?

Real or not, Harry had to ask.

“Did I do that to you?” he whispered, fingers sliding to Draco’s side, over his shirt. One of the deep lacerations had gone around his ribs, and Harry found the edge of the deep scar with his fingertips.

Draco stiffened, and then propped up on a hand. He looked at Harry and shook his head.

“Tell me," Harry pleaded.

“I thought you wanted to forget.”

“I’m sorry, if I did, please, I--” Harry shut his eyes again, fighting off the imagery in his head. A thin, unhealthy Draco, already so abused, so used. And Harry. Anger coiling through him.

But there wasn’t a blade in his hand. Just a piece of wood, and then Draco was bleeding on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said again, unaware of the tears on his cheeks until Draco was wiping them away.

“It’s okay. You already apologized. More than once. Gryffindor pride and honor and all that.”

Harry didn't know what that meant.

“You didn't know what the spell would do. You were in the right that day. As usual.”

Harry snorted and turned his face away to wipe his cheeks. “I doubt that.”

“More than I was, anyway.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Granted that all of this is real, and that I … we … why can’t you let me forget?”

“I told you, Harry, I wanted to. You left. You left everyone. I didn’t care. No one expected me to care. But Weasley and Granger—”

His ever helpful dream-memory supplied an image of two people. One was Ronald Weasley and the other with bushy hair. Her name was Hermione?

“—are stubborn. You’re the Golden Trio, except they’re missing their third. I told them to leave it alone, that you disappeared for a reason and obviously didn’t want to be found, but Granger is as determined as you are when you’re chasing down the Snitch.”

“The what?”

Draco smiled and shook his head. “Never mind.”

“No, wait, that … that ball, you gave me.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Why do I have dreams of flying? Why do I have dreams of us flying? And fire?”

Draco’s face shut down. It was instantaneous. His eyes hardened, and his lips went into thin lines.

This time, it was Harry reaching for Draco, lightly touching his face.

Draco flinched and then shook his head. He inhaled deeply. “Now that is one day that I would not mind forgetting. It was … stupid. And I was wrong, and—”

Harry pulled Draco to his lips and kissed him quiet.

Draco made a single noise of protest, and then kissed him back.

“Don’t,” Harry whispered against his lips. “Not if remembering causes you pain.”

“So you bear it alone? How very typical of Harry Potter.”

Harry pulled far enough away to search for a meaning in those eyes.

“It’s what you do. You think you know what’s best for everyone, and you don’t bloody tell anyone, and then you go and do something stupid like having your memory wiped and replaced. You’ve had that damn hero complex since you were eleven.”

“Eleven. You’ve known me that long?” Harry said in surprise.

“Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on what happens next.”

“I can’t decide what happens next if I don’t remember what happened before.”

“What else have you been dreaming about?”

“Mainly you,” Harry replied. “Although usually when I dream about a man I’m dating, the dreams are a lot more sexual.”

“Yes, well, we most definitely did not have that kind of relationship back in school.”

Harry’s eyes went wide again. “School?”

“Yes, we went to school together.”

“I’m not British.”

“Yes, you are. Your American accent is flawless.”

Harry rubbed his eyes again and caught himself yawning.

Draco smiled at him and ran his fingers over Harry’s cheek. Their lips touched.

“Sleep, love,” Draco whispered, “and if you wake up and none of this was ever real, well, then I guess it’s okay to tell you that I love you.”

Harry’s eyes went wide.

“Everyone loves you, of course, but to tear through my emotions like you have, well, my love is just a bit more powerful. So they can all bugger themselves.”

Harry laughed. He pulled Draco against him and their lips met again for only a moment. Harry shut his eyes and let himself feel the hate and the anger and then decided that even if it was real and even if all these weird dreams were his memories, it was in the past. He hated Draco in the past.

And in the present, this present, Harry did not hate Draco at all.

\---/---

Harry woke up, not from dreams, not from fear. He just woke up. Eyes opening to the light of the room, stretching weary arms and legs. He rolled to his side, in Draco’s opulent bed, curled up in his soft, luxurious comforter, and he was halfway asleep again when Draco sauntered in, pale hair in his face, sleep pants barely hanging on his hips, bare-chested, carrying a tray.

“You drugged me,” Harry said.

Draco smirked. “You had to sleep.”

Harry smiled at him, and Draco smiled back and set the tray on the bed. Coffee.

“Okay, now I love you,” Harry said and reached for the coffee.

Draco chuckled. “I’m glad you didn't forget that.”

Harry shook his head. He took a sip of coffee and then pulled Draco next to him for a kiss. There was a bowl of fruit on the tray, and Harry picked it up and fed pieces of it to Draco between more kisses.

“What the--Potter, really,” Draco said as his lips were covered again with tangy fruit kisses.

Harry smiled. “Past. Present. Right now is right now.”

Draco smiled back. “True, but we have to deal with back then.”

“Later.”

“Okay.”

They finished the fruit, and Harry drank his coffee. After it was gone, Harry set the tray on the bedside table.

“How many times did we try to kill each other in school? I can remember three.”

“Only three, really? We were at each other’s throats every day.”

Harry hummed and dragged kisses down Draco’s throat.

Draco shivered and pushed him away. “You don’t remember everything.”

Harry shook his head.

“Ah, bloody hell. I’m not really the one that should be telling you all this.”

“Humor my insanity.”

Draco sat up. “Granger says that we should ease you into this. That you might freak out, but hey, you’re already a bit insane, so what the hell? Right?”

“Right.”

“Harry, you’re a wizard.”

Harry opened his mouth, and then shut it as the image of a burly, giant-of-a-man said the exact same thing in his brain. In his memories. In a dark, wet, cold hut … with his aunt and uncle. And … Dudley. With a pig's tail.

“Holy fuck,” Harry said.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

There were gaps between meeting the giant and walking the streets of a quaint, old-fashioned looking town. And then Draco. Young, blond, snobbish Draco. In a clothes shop?

“We-we were trying on costumes.”

“Robes, Potter, really. They’re for school. Our school uniforms.”

“School?”

“Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“Holy fuck.”

“You already said that. Merlin, the Weasel and Granger are going to be so mad.”

Ron. Hermione. Red hair, bushy hair. A fucking troll? They fought off a troll when they were eleven?

“Holy fuck.”

Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Potter.”

“Oh my god, I hated you. I hated you,” Harry said and squeezed Draco’s hand. “Why the hell were you such a god-awful, spoiled, poncy git?”

“I can ask the same of you when we were eleven years old.”

Harry smiled and pulled him close for a kiss. There was a loud crack in the other room, and Harry pushed him away, arms reaching for his jeans, but he didn’t have a gun with him, and that sounded like a gun shot and—

“Calm down,” Draco said and pulled away with a sigh.

“Malfoy!” a familiar voice shouted.

“That would be Ronald Weasley, one third of the damn perfect Golden Trio.”

“What? That was a loud noise.”

“It’s called Apparating. It’s how wizards travel from place to place. Think of it as teleporting.”

“Holy fuck.”

Draco laughed.

Weasley shouted for Malfoy again.

“Don’t tell him yet, please,” Harry said. “This is too much.”

“I won’t.” Draco kissed him swiftly one more time, and then left the room, shouting at the Weasel to shut up.

Harry lay on the bed, confused and in utter awe at the flood of memories pouring through his mind.

Ron was his best friend. They met on a train and ate chocolate frogs that bounced around. In their first year, they’d been through so much and faced so many challenges, all with Hermione by their side.

There were still some gaps, but Harry believed now. He knew it was all true. Everything that Draco said yanked forward another memory which fueled another and another. They fought for space in his brain with the dual images, dual memories for the same time. But put next to the memories of his real past, the fake ones paled in comparison in details and feelings.

And it wasn't fair that he was keeping it from the man who was his best friend and constant supporter. Well, not constant, but usually. Ron was there when he needed him the most.

He stood up and pain laced through his head. He shut his eyes, hissing until it passed and then moved as quickly as possible. When he bent for his jeans, there was more pain, stronger, and Harry staggered and fell to the bed. Lying down, the pain was bearable. Harry pulled his jeans on. Best friend and dorm-mates or not, he didn't really need Ron seeing him walking out of Draco’s bedroom in his boxers and t-shirt.

When he stood up again, the pain hit, but Harry shut his eyes and breathed through it. He opened his eyes and found his glasses on the bedside table. Images sharpened, and he went out of the room.

Draco and Ron were arguing. Probably about him.

Ron caught sight of him and shut up, and Draco turned around and smiled, and Harry winced at another volley of pain. Determined, he moved past Draco and stumbled. Ron caught him, and Harry hugged him tightly through the worst of the pain. He was so much taller than Harry. Taller than Draco.

Ron stood frozen for a moment, and then hugged him back. “Hey, Harry.”

“Hey, Ron.”

They held on to each other, until Draco said, voice dripping with his usual disdain, “Are you going to drag him to bed, Potter?”

Harry made a face and stepped away from him, and Ron’s face mirrored his own disgust, and then they both laughed and hugged again.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. “I can’t remember everything yet, but--”

“It’s okay, mate. We’re just glad we found you.”

Harry wasn't sure if he was glad they found him or not. 

He finally stepped away from Ron, but only one step toward Draco and pain was lashing through his head.

He was used to pain in his head. Supposedly. According to his memories.

Draco’s arms were around him and he was asking something.

“I’m … okay,” Harry managed. “Just … pain. Like … really badly.”

“Not from your scar,” Draco prompted.

“No, just … everywhere.”

“Bed?”

“Couch is closer.”

“I’m going to go get Hermione.”

“Only if she is coming alone and she won’t go all coddle-crazy on him. He’s not an invalid.”

Ron rolled his eyes and smiled at Harry. There was another crack a moment later, and Harry winced. How had he gotten used to that sound?

Draco led him to the couch and sat next to him. He held his hand on Harry’s forehead. “Are you sure you’re all right, Harry?”

“Yeah. It’s just a massive headache. I’ve survived worse things. Apparently.”

“You fell off your broomstick more than once.”

“And regrew bones? How is all this possible?”

“Magic," Draco said and waved his hands in Harry's face.

"Prat," Harry said affectionately and buried his face in Draco’s neck.

Two loud cracks sounded through the room.

“Harry!”

Harry winced, but turned his head enough to see Hermione Granger rushing to him. Draco held out his hand to keep her off, but Harry rolled his eyes and sat up. Harry had enough timte to see that she was wearing loose jeans, a long sleeved shirt and her hair was curly and wild and messy in a ponytail.

Hermione fell to her knees, arms around his waist, head against his chest and just cried.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Gryffindors.”

“Shut it, Ferret,” Ron said.

And Harry laughed. “Oh my god, that day, oh hell. Bouncing white ferret, oh fuck.”

Ron laughed with him. Even Hermione laughed through her tears.

“That was one of the best days of school,” Harry said.

Draco poked him in the side, and he winced and lay back as pain twisted through his brain again.

“Are you all right, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“My head hurts.”

“You’re probably fighting the memories. It’s understandable. The _Obliviate_ curse you put on yourself is really strong.”

Harry winced and nodded. Another image of a run down shack filled his mind. But this one was different. It was overgrown with weeds and dirt, and the witch who lived there was older than anyone Harry had met. He could not remember her name. He remembered drinking something, and then nothing. New York, with a new life.

_How did I do that?_

“Do what?” Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head, not realizing that he’d said that out loud.

“Let’s get you back to London,” Hermione said. “We need—”

“Woah, wait,” Harry said. “London?”

“You are not dragging him back there,” Draco said. “Let him get used to the fact that he’s a wizard. I don’t even know if he’s remembered Voldemort yet.”

“Oh hell,” Harry said and shut his eyes. “Is that the freaky snake guy’s name? The one without a nose?”

There was silence, and then the three of them laughed.

“The Dark Lord himself.”

“This shit is crazy,” Harry said. “I’m going back to sleep.”

He tried to stand up and then swayed, and Draco held him by the hips to steady him. Hermione was still kneeling on the floor. Ron came over and helped her up. Harry hugged her tightly.

“I don’t remember everything,” Harry said, “but I guess part of me will always want to forget.”

“Why?” Hermione asked. “Why did you do it?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t remember. Part of me hopes I never do remember why,”

“What do you mean?” Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. “Just seems like a desperate, gutsy move, you know? Right up there with slitting your own wrists. Life must have sucked. And I just figured everyone would be better off without me. I don’t remember why.”

Hermione looked like she might cry again.

“Don’t tell anyone yet,” Draco said.

“Why not?” Hermione asked. “Molly is frantic.”

“Then she stays frantic. I do not want my apartment overrun with Weasels—”

“Draco,” Harry said.

Draco ignored him. “—and Harry still needs to remember. Okay? Just let him be for as long as he needs. Do you have his wand?”

Ron nodded and went to a bag by the door. He pulled out a slim case and handed it to Draco.

Wand? Magic wand? To cast spells? 

Harry turned and looked at Draco. “Are you sure this isn't a horrible dream?”

“How can it be horrible when you've been letting me shag you?”

Harry laughed. “Okay, good point.”

“Harry,” Hermione said.

Harry met her eyes and then said, “You think I’m going to stop seeing Draco because I remember how much I hated him?”

“Well, yeah, mate,” Ron said. “It’s the Ferret. You two are--”

Harry smiled at Draco and hooked his arm around his neck. “Totally and completely in love.”

“Merlin. Do not make me sound like a teen-aged girl.”

Harry laughed and looked back at his best friends. “Give me a couple days, okay? This is freaky shit.”

“So eloquent,” Draco muttered.

Hermione nodded and Harry hugged them both.

“Do take care of yourself, Harry,” Hermione said. “We all really miss you.”

“I know.”

Harry waited until they had cracked themselves away. He turned to Draco. “Fill me in, please.”

“What do you mean?”

“I disappeared. I got that. Tell me why. Or tell me why everyone decided it was a good idea to find me.”

Draco sighed and motioned to the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Okay.” Draco led him to the bar stool, and then pattered around in the kitchen. He opened a cupboard and pulled out some bread and, while he prepared toast with cream cheese and fruit, he talked.

“You had been acting strange for about six months. Nothing, too out of the ordinary. Merlin knows I didn’t notice a difference in how you treated me, but Weasley and Granger were hell bent on trying to figure out what was wrong with you. Do you remember the war?”

“Vaguely. The snake guy, right?”

“Yeah. Well, after the good side won, there were fun things like parties and celebrations, but there were also horrible things like trials and funerals and more people trying to kill you. You didn't mind the death threats, it was everyone else that irritated you. People wouldn't leave you alone because you were the _Boy Who Wouldn't Just Bloody Die_. I figure it got to you a bit.”

“I did die, you know.”

“Yeah. Everyone knows that. You died so we would all be saved. Well done.”

Irritation flared in Harry, and he shrugged it away. Draco had always been a daft prick. “And then?”

“You disappeared about two years after the war. No one knew where or why or how.”

“Dare I ask how many years it’s been?”

“It’s been six years since you disappeared.”

“So I’m what? Twenty-six?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you find me?”

“There was a huge investigation. Every Auror in every country was looking for you. Looking for clues. But after a year, and no one could find you and there were no leads, they had no choice but to close your case. But Hermione is like a goblin on a treasure hunt. She would not let it go. Ron tried to reason with her, but what else could he do but support her? Hermione worked on tracing spells for three years before they finally found your wand in some old hut, along with the body of a really old witch. Your wand was examined for the last spells cast and besides an _Obliviate_ curse that no one had used in five hundred years, there were locking charms and confusion charms and so many wards that even Charlie Weasley wasn't able to work out how they were all meshed together.”

Draco placed the toast and a glass of orange juice in front of him. He sat on the bar stool next to Harry’s and leaned against the bar. “After another year, the case was closed again. You obviously wanted to disappear. And you’re such a powerful wizard that no one ever expected to find you. But Granger wouldn't let it go. It was just another puzzle that needed to be solved. It took a long time for Hermione to find the little chest that had all your American documents in it. And then it was up to us to find you and since Father had an office here, I volunteered to start the search just to get out of England for a little while.” 

“How long until you saw me at the bar?”

“Three weeks. It was a bit of a surprise. I’d been doing my research and I knew you were a cop, but I wasn’t actively looking for you. I’m sure Weasley and Granger would have found you and dragged you away within the first day, but it was nice to be away from the slander and the people that still constantly remind me of my father’s mistakes.”

“And your own.”

Draco looked down at the counter, eyes hard. “Yeah, and my own. Anyway. For a moment, I thought you recognized me and then you didn't, and well, I decided to play along.”

“For your own amusement and benefit.”

“Of course. You're gorgeous. I wasn't going to pass up the chance.”

Harry smiled and drank the juice. He almost spit it out when he remembered Barnes’ mutterings about demons and magic and floating furniture after he’d turned himself in.

“You … Barnes, he confessed.”

Draco smirked, and then he smiled softly and ran his hand down Harry’s cheek. “It was killing you. Everything was. And I figured without Barnes and the stress of that case, the dreams would stop, and you could keep being Harry Potter, New York City cop. Or if they continued, then you wouldn't have to deal with so much at once. Muggles are weak-minded. It was easy to get him to cooperate.”

“Oh my god.”

Draco held his hands out. “What, no thank you?”

“You bloody bastard.”

Draco tilted his head and said, “You almost sounded British when you said that.”

“I can’t believe you interfered with my case like that. Fuck, Draco.”

“Bad guy is in jail. Isn’t that the goal?”

“Yes, and thank you, but still!”

Draco laughed. He came around the counter, and Harry turned and pulled him between his legs. It was easy to kiss him.

“So, can I expect your memories of us to make this the last time I kiss you?” Draco asked.

“No. It’s pretty cool knowing that without our past, that if we had met up in a bar, that things between us would have worked out. They can work out. You want them to?”

“People aren’t going to like it and they’re going to think I cursed you or gave you a love potion or something.”

“What are you always saying? The mindless masses are idiots?”

“Imbeciles, but idiot works too.”

Harry laughed and kissed him again. “Thank you. For your help and for … I don’t even know. This is the weirdest situation I’ve ever been in.”

“Doubtful. Didn’t you date Cho Chang?”

Harry remembered an awkward date in an chintzy tea shop and a pretty girl crying. “Okay, so this is the second weirdest situation I’ve ever been in.” Harry yawned. “Back to bed.”

“Best idea you have ever had, Potter.”

Harry smiled and stood up. The pain in his head had lessened, but he said nothing and leaned on Draco anyway, even though he could have made it on his own. And this time, he didn't pause in slipping off all his clothes to sleep. Draco slid into bed next to him and raised his hand and everything darkened considerably.

“ I've caught myself almost doing that in front of you so many times.”

Harry smiled and pulled Draco close. He didn't say anything, but thought about magic. Forgotten words and hand movements trailed through his memories and he thought about the wand, his wand that was sitting dormant in its case on Draco’s coffee table.

_Slashing hex used on Draco_

Harry rolled Draco over and ignored the question in his eyes.He straddled Draco’s lap and ran his hands over his chest, fingers lingering on each scar. “Are you sure that I apologized to you for this?”

“Yes. Maybe not with words, but you did save me. More than once. During the last battle and since then. You spoke at my trial and kept my mother and me out of prison. You let me onto the board that controls the trust fund for the orphans of the war to help improve my image. And you consistently say good things about me to the press even if I don’t deserve them.”

“You deserve them.”

“Say that when you remember everything I've ever done to you.”

Harry smiled and leaned down for a kiss. Against Draco’s lips he said, “ You've given me the best sex I've ever had in my life. But I can’t quite remember how good it is. Remind me?”

Draco’s eyes flashed with lust and just as quickly, Harry found himself pinned to the bed with an eager, completely naked Draco on top of him.

“Yep, banish. Best spell ever,” Harry said.

Draco shook his head. “Second best spell ever,” he said. He grabbed Harry’s knees, hooked them on his elbows, and then pressed two fingers against his dry entrance. Harry’s protest was swallowed as everything tingled and his muscles loosened, and he was full of something slippery and then full of Draco’s cock.

“Are you always right?” Harry asked when he could breathe again.

“Yes. Now shut up and let me love you.”

Harry shut up.


	7. A Mess of Confrontations

Disclaimer: These definitely aren't mine. Characters and the plots of the Harry Potter series are property of JK Rowling.  


\-----/-----

Chapter 7: A Mess of Confrontations

Harry agreed to take another dose of Dreamless Sleep potion. He really needed it. When he woke up, he had no idea what time it was or what day it was, or anything that probably was important. He rubbed his eyes and sat up. His body was pleasantly sore from sex and he smiled while reaching for his glasses. He needed to go get some contacts. Or maybe there was a spell for that. He'd have to ask Draco. The world focused, and Harry reached for his phone.

He had about eighteen missed calls, most from Kat. He checked the time. It almost four the next afternoon. Harry had more or less disappeared for two days.

“Fuck.”

He called Kat’s number.

“Harry, thank god. Where are you?”

Harry yawned. “Sorry. I’ve been at Draco’s.”

“Oh. Everything okay then, since you disappeared for two days?”

“You might say that. He’s a stubborn bloke.”

Kat laughed. “Nice English accent. And I’ll just bet he is.”

Draco wandered into the bedroom. He was wearing linen pants and a white shirt that brushed low on his hips. He frowned at Harry.

“I’m going to assume that you aren’t coming into the station today.”

Harry bit his lip. This was something he did not want to deal with yet. “No, Kat. I need a sabbatical.”

“For how long?”

“I …” He wanted to tell her. He had to tell her. Disappearing again was not an option.

“Harry?”

“I need to you come to Draco’s tonight. Please.”

“Harry,” she said in question, and he heard Draco inhale in protest.

“Please. It’s really important.”

“Okay, what time?”

“Six.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, Kat.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“I know. I’m okay. I promise.”

Harry ended the call and then met Draco’s eyes.

“You can’t tell her,” Draco said.

“Yes, I can.”

“That’s against the law.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

Draco bristled, turned around and left the bedroom.

Harry sighed and forced his body up. He took a shower, and then dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and went to the main room. Draco was in the kitchen, cooking. Everything smelled delicious.

“Figure your friend will be hungry.”

Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and kissed his neck. “Thank you. You're amazing.”

“It only took you fifteen years to figure that out.”

Harry chuckled. "Actually, it only took me about ten minutes of sex."

Draco smiled.

Harry kissed his cheek before releasing him. With a bit of trepidation, Harry moved to the living room and picked up the box that held his wand. It’d been six years since it was in his hand. Six years.

He opened the case and stared at the piece of wood inside. Eleven inches of holly with a phoenix feather core. A vague memory of his wand being in pieces came to mind. He'd had it fixed. With another wand? Harry wasn't sure. He shook his head.

Rudimentary spells trickled through his memories. With a deep breath, he wrapped his fingers around his wand. Energy twisted up through his fingers and his arm, and a shower of gold sparks shot from the end of it. His wand vibrated and Harry put it down.

“It’s glad to see you,” Draco said.

Harry snorted. “I’m still not sure I’m glad to see it.”

Draco sat next to him and put his arm around him. Harry picked up the wand again, and then said, “ _Accio_ ” and the pillows on the other couch zoomed over to them.

“That is pretty cool,” Harry said.

Draco laughed. “Yeah, magic can be cool.”

“And deadly.”

Something in the kitchen beeped, and Draco pressed a kiss to Harry’s cheek and stood up. Harry went through some of the simpler spells he’d first learned at Hogwarts, and more or less made a mess of Draco’s apartment. A few minutes before six, with the food under a Warming Charm, Draco and Harry cleaned up the mess. He’d accidentally shredded a pillow and feathers had flown everywhere.

Harry put the wand back in the box and sighed.

“You’re not happy.”

Harry shrugged. “I forgot for a reason, Draco. I just … I just wish I remembered why.”

Draco ran his hand over Harry’s cheek. “I think it’s all there. The stress, the press, the deaths, the funerals. Hell, Harry, you couldn’t go to Diagon Alley without an escort of bodyguards.”

“So many people died, and I … I think if I had done something sooner, been faster or stronger or—”

“You’ll tire of hearing this, I’m sure you already did tire of it once, but you did the best you could.”

A soft chime echoed in the room. Draco’s wards, and Draco smiled, held Harry’s hand and went out to meet Kat in the main room. Kat was in her standard skirt suit and she smiled at Harry and then didn’t lose the smile while shaking Draco’s hand.

“You look better than you did the last time I saw you,” Kat said to Harry.

“Yeah, sex and sleep can do wonders for a man’s appearance,” Draco said and winked at her.

Kat laughed. “And he never looked that good when he was sleeping with me. You hang on to this one,” she said, pointing a stern finger at Harry.

“I plan on it.”

Draco led them back to the dining room, and Kat whistled. “This is a gorgeous space, Malfoy.”

“Thanks. I like it. It’s not home, but it does the trick.”

“Are you in the U.S. for good, or do you plan on going back to England soon?”

Draco looked over at Harry. “That depends.”

“Aw, so cute,” Kat said and patted Harry’s cheek.

Harry pulled his head away and laughed. “He’s surprisingly a bit of a sucker for romance.”

Draco served them dinner and Harry listened to Kat talk about the new cases they had and some of the more annoying ones that didn’t have enough evidence.

“Randall is determined to give you all the shittiest cases,” Kat said, “but if you’re going to go on sabbatical, he won’t have a choice but to do them himself.”

Harry set his spoon down, ice cream parfait only half eaten. “About that.”

Kat raised her eyebrows. “Ah, so now we’re going to talk about why I’m really here.”

“She’s a smart one,” Draco said.

“Why do you think she dated me?”

“And broke up with you.”

“Prat,” Harry said and ran a finger over Draco’s jaw.

“You’re quitting,” Kat said. Her voice was neutral. Maybe a little hurt.

“No, Kat, I’m remembering.”

“What?”

Harry wasn’t sure how to tell her. “I told you, that I felt like two people, that these dreams felt like memories. Well, they are memories.”

Kat looked at him and said nothing.

“I do know Draco, I’ve known Draco since I was eleven years old.”

“So you’ve had amnesia or something?”

“Sort of.”

“Harry has never been good at explaining himself,” Draco said. “What he’s dancing around is this. There are two kinds of people who live in this world. Two worlds that live side by side. Muggles and Wizards. We’re wizards.”

“What?” Kat said in disbelief.

“Harry, here, is … well, he’s a bit of a prat. Let me get some more wine.” Draco lifted a hand and a bottle of wine flew to the table.

Kat probably would have fainted if she’d been a weaker woman.

Draco didn’t touch the bottle, but just let it float there and pour the wine and sent the glass to Kat. It dropped to the table gently. Eyeing it, she picked it up and took a swallow.

“Good vintage,” she said.

“It pays to be rich,” Draco said and took a sip of his own wine.

Harry started at the beginning. He told Kat about growing up with the Dursleys, and then turning eleven and then Hogwarts and Draco and Ron and Hermione. He told her about Voldemort and the war and why Draco’s father was in prison. Draco filled in the spaces that Harry couldn’t remember yet.

It was almost eleven when Kat said, “Okay, so why are you here? Why are you a New York City cop?”

“The million Galleon question,” Draco muttered.

Harry took a deep breath. He remembered some of his emotions, and some of the instances that drove him to be here. One of which was the pressure to marry Ginny Weasley. “When your entire life is dictated by others, when you give up your life for so many people and then they just won’t leave you alone, it’s hard to deal with that. They … I … I felt really trapped. I didn’t want to be an Auror. I didn’t want to marry Ginevra Weasley. I didn’t want … I didn’t want the life they wanted. I wanted to be alone. And in their world, I wasn’t able to be alone.”

Draco put his arm around Harry’s shoulders and kissed his cheek.

“I still can’t remember things, especially that close to me wiping my memory.”

Kat was on her fourth glass of wine at this time, but she refused Draco’s offer at a refill. “So I can assume that you are going to quit.”

Harry looked at Draco.

Draco frowned. “What, love?”

“I don’t want to go back.”

Draco inhaled deeply. “Then don’t go back.”

“But …”

“Harry, come on. When you go back, no one is going to leave you alone. You think Granger was bad. The Weasel Mother is going to be ten times worse.”

Harry put his face in his hands. “I know.”

“If you go back,” Kat said, “then it should be on your own terms. Not on everyone else’s. I get that you’re this special person. The Chosen One—”

Draco scoffed.

“—but other people cannot dictate your life. What would you do? No, what do you want to do if you go back?”

Harry leaned into Draco’s body. “The only time I felt really happy was when I was with the children at the orphanage.”

“So do that,” Draco said. “It’s not like you aren’t as rich as I am, back in England anyway. You don’t have to be an Auror.”

Harry took a deep breath.

“It sounds like those kids really do need someone,” Kat said. “You don’t have to be a father to them all, but an older brother sounds like a great idea.”

It really did sound nice. Harry wondered why he hadn't just done that, after the war, and he figured that he’d been too busy trying to make everyone else happy.

After a few more minutes, Kat got up to leave. She agreed to a Secrecy charm and Draco set it. It wouldn't erase her memory of the night, but she wouldn't be able to talk about it and when asked, all she could say is that Harry quit and ran off to England with his British boyfriend.

Kat kissed Harry’s cheek and Draco took her down to the lobby to see that she got into a cab. Harry lay back on the couch, eyes shut. His heart was aching. The feelings of hopelessness, fear and anger weren't his, but they were. He remembered them all, and knew this was just an echo of what he had been feeling when he’d disappeared. He denied his friends’ worries and didn't think he had to talk to anyone. He had been trapped in his own mind, in his own need to not worry anyone and it ate him up.

Harry remembered contemplating killing himself, but he knew that would be horrible for his friends. He knew disappearing would be too, but after a while, their lives would go on.

Obviously they didn't. He needed to talk to Hermione.

Draco sat next to him and put his arm around him. Harry folded himself into Draco’s embrace.

“You don’t want to go back?” Draco whispered a few minutes later.

“Not really.”

“I understand. But I know you. You’ll go back because you think that’s what you’re supposed to do.”

Harry sighed and pushed away.

“Don’t go back for them. Don’t go back for me. Go back for yourself. If you want to stay here, in New York and be a cop, then do that. If you want to live with the children at the orphanage, then do that. Children love with innocence, and you can help them.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Okay, but not right now.” Draco lowered Harry to the couch, and Harry sighed as their lips met. The wine and Draco’s attentions were enough to get him forget, for a few hours anyway.

\---/---

Harry loved waking up in Draco’s bed. He loved waking up in his arms, and he loved waking up to the feel of his stiff prick against his ass.

“Morning, love,” Draco whispered.

Harry sighed and lifted he leg. He hooked it over Draco’s hip and Draco moaned. His erection teased Harry’s stretched body, and then with a little guidance, Draco slipped inside him. Harry wrapped his arm around Draco’s neck and turned his head to the side for a deep kiss.

“I think I managed to go all day yesterday without saying that I love you,” Harry whispered.

Draco smiled. “Maybe.”

“It feels …”

“Weird. I know.”

“But the feeling is real. I do love you, Draco. Different circumstances and I would have loved you in school too.”

Draco nodded and they kissed again. “I love you, too.”

Harry’s chest felt like it was constricting. Their tongues twisted together, and Draco’s thrusts sped up. His long fingers curled around Harry’s erection and stroked him in time to the steady movements. Harry loved this. Loved being held on the brink of orgasm until Draco was ready to come too. He never, ever thought he’d find a lover that knew him so well, or knew his body so well.

He broke from the kiss, clamped down around Draco’s erection and pumped out his release onto Draco’s bed. Draco smiled and then shut his eyes. With his face buried in Harry’s neck, he moaned and shuddered and then stilled.

After a few minutes, Harry was dozing again. Draco reluctantly pulled out of him, and whispered a cleaning charm that took care of the mess. Harry liked that spell too.

“The Weasel and Granger are coming over in an hour,” Draco whispered.

Harry sighed.

“I know, but you can get some answers from them.” Draco kissed his cheek and Harry leaned against his body.

“Shower with me?”

“Of course. And then tea and breakfast.”

After their shower, Harry stared at himself in the mirror. Really, really stared. He spent so much time avoiding his reflection, unsure as to why. He lifted the fringe off his forehead and examined the scar that marked him as the Savior. The Chosen One. The Boy Who Would Not Just Bloody Die Already. It wasn't the worst of his scars, and it was one of few that he couldn't even remember receiving. He knew how he got it. But he’d only been a baby. He didn't remember anything else.

Was that so bad? Forgetting?

When he thought of his past, of his real past, there were more things he wished he could forget than things he wanted to remember. His life had been controlled and manipulated since this scar was put on his forehead. Harry didn't want it to dictate the rest of his life, but now that his memories were back, he didn't have much of a choice.

Draco knocked on the door frame and then leaned against it. “The other two thirds of the Golden Trio are here.”

Harry nodded. He had heard the crack of Apparition.

“Brooding, Potter?”

Harry met his eyes in the mirror. “Would you stay here?”

“In the bathroom?”

“In New York.”

Draco waved his hand in a familiar and easy silencing charm. “Make sense.”

Harry sighed and looked back at his reflection. It winked at him, and he looked away. “If I don’t go back, will you stay with me?”

Draco leaned against the sink and crossed his arms. “You shouldn't let your decision rest on that.”

“I know, but I love you.”

Draco smiled and let Harry kiss him. “What do I have in England, except people who hate me and living under the shadow of my father?”

“Your mother.”

“A quick international Portkey away. But what do you have? What do you have in England?”

“I don’t know. That depends on if you’re there.”

Draco smiled. “We’ll go out there. And we’ll talk to them. But I want you to remember this, Potter. You have no obligations to anyone but yourself. Selfish? Probably. But you've given up enough of your life, first to the Dursleys, and then to the war and now to this other version of you. Live your life. It’s your life. Not theirs.”

Harry nodded. “I know.”

“Go put some clothes on,” Draco said.

“Too bad.”

Draco laughed and walked out of the bathroom.

Harry gave his reflection one more look. It smiled at him and said, “You know he’s right.”

“Draco is always right.”

His reflection nodded, and then stilled. Harry sighed. Magic could be so creepy. He left the bathroom and pulled on a pair of tattered jeans and a t-shirt. The day before, Draco had gone to his apartment and picked up a bunch of his clothes and other things for him. The last thing he did was shove his wand in his pocket. It was taking a lot of time to get used to the thing.

Draco and Ron were discussing the Quidditch World Cup when he finally came into the kitchen. He placed a kiss on Draco’s head, and Draco pointed to his teacup and he cradled it to his face.

“Good morning, Harry,” Hermione said. Her voice was cautious and Ron stopped arguing about the quality of the Tutshill Tornados’ Chasers.

“Hey, guys.”

“Hey, mate,” Ron said. “How’s the memory?”

“Painful.”

Hermione winced.

“Do you still have a headache?”

“I don’t think that’s what he was talking about,” Hermione said.

Harry smiled and said, “No, Ron, I don’t have a headache anymore. Draco is pretty good at shagging those away.”

“Pretty good?” Draco protested.

Harry laughed and sipped at his tea. He knew Hermione would speak first, so he waited until she dared to.

“Are you coming home?” she asked.

Harry didn't really think she’d start with that one. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“But Harry—”

“He said he hadn’t decided,” Draco said. “Leave it, Granger.”

Hermione glared at him.

“If he doesn’t want to go back, then he won’t. And no one will tell other people where he is. That’s one of his choices.”

Harry smiled at Draco. “It is one of my choices. How many people know I’m here?”

“People know you’re here,” Ron said, “but not that we’ve found you, or that you’ve remembered who you are.”

“Who I was,” Harry muttered.

“So you’re going to stay here with Malfoy?” Hermione demanded.

“Yes,” Harry said. “If I want to.”

“Why?”

Harry put his arm around Draco’s shoulder and kissed his cheek. “Because Draco didn’t care who I was when I met him here. He knew who I was, of course, he did, but he didn’t shove it in my face. He said hi to me, well … he caught me on a bad night, but he didn’t try to drag me away from a reality that I knew.”

Hermione pursed her lips. “For his own selfish reasons.”

Draco opened his mouth to argue.

Harry held up his hand. “Selfish reasons? You’re blaming Draco right now for being selfish? If I had never started dreaming about things, I never would have remembered anything. I would have been happy and content dating a gorgeous British bloke, and I’m pretty sure Draco would not have minded dating a New York City detective. But you.” Harry stopped and looked at her. "What did you do? You’ve spent six years searching for me.”

“Well, of course, I did!”

“And did you ever stop to think that I didn’t want to be found?”

Hermione said nothing.

“I understand searching for me before you found the chest of documents. I understand that. Because you would have been worried, and afraid that I had died or that someone had kidnapped me. But after. Why did you try to find me after, when I so obviously wanted to just disappear?”

Hermione held his gaze, but again said nothing. Her eyes were wet with tears.

“Don’t call Draco selfish,” Harry continued. “He is, god, he’s selfish, but you are too. I disappeared for a reason.”

“Do you remember why?” Ron asked.

Harry took a deep breath. “Because I was too much of a coward to kill myself.”

“Harry,” Hermione said and blinked and her tears fell.

“I spent my life living it the way other people said, and I took a good long look at myself and I decided, if I had my way, what I would want to do. I like helping people, I like the action of chasing a fugitive, so I knew that I wanted to be in law enforcement, but not as an Auror, because me being an Auror would cause more harm than good. Reporters would make it impossible for me to be undercover and impossible for me to be out in the field. I thought about joining Scotland Yard, but I knew that if I didn’t get out of England, that I’d still be found and hounded. New York City is a great place to be anonymous.”

Harry stopped and had to take a deep breath. He hadn’t remembered any of that until he started talking. He continued, “I love your sister, Ron, but I don’t want to marry her. I never really did want to marry her. But it was expected of me.”

“You’ve been gone for six years, mate,” Ron said. “She married Dean Thomas about four years ago. They have twins boys named Fred and Remus.”

“Good for them,” Harry said and raised his teacup in a toast. “And you two?”

Ron smiled and looked at Hermione. “We aren’t married.”

“Why not?”

“We promised each other we’d be the best man at our weddings, so …”

Hermione nodded. “It didn’t feel right, to get married without you there.”

“We have a baby girl though,” Ron said. “She’s two. Her name is Rose.”

Harry smiled widely. “Really? Congratulations.”

“She’s our world,” Hermione said.

“I’d really like to come and see her.”

“Any time, mate,” Ron said. “You know that.”

“I’ll definitely go back to see her.”

“Permanently?”

Harry looked at Hermione and shook his head. “I don’t know yet, ‘Mione. Maybe. I … I’m a little mad at you right now.”

“Why?”

“Because, like always, you didn’t just leave well enough alone.”

Hermione stood up from the table and squared her shoulders. “And? So what? Maybe it was selfish. Maybe I missed my best friend. Maybe I was worried about you and worried that you were suffering. When Malfoy told us you didn’t recognize him, my heart shattered, but really, it was Malfoy. I knew that you’d recognize me, or Ron, but then he said you didn’t and it …” Hermione took a very deep breath. “Yeah. Maybe it was selfish. But why are you the lucky one, Harry? It’s not fair that you get to forget, and everyone else has to remember. And not only do they have to remember, they have to suffer with your disappearance, too. That hurt a lot of people, and not just the ones that are the closest to you. You may have been okay with never seeing or talking to your friends again, but I wasn’t. And that’s why I kept looking. Friendship. It’d buoyed us up for nine years, and you turned your back on it instead of letting us help you, instead of telling the truth.”

Hermione turned around and left the kitchen. The door to the suite slammed and then there was a muffled crack that echoed around the house.

Ron sighed and stood up. “Sorry, mate, but well, even if she was doing it for herself, she thought of you and other people, too. Just like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You disappeared for yourself, but knowing you, you convinced yourself that it was good for everyone if you just went away. That isn’t true. We love you. And I don’t mean the general public that loves their war hero, but I mean, us. The Weasleys. Hermione, Teddy. Your friends. Everyone put their lives on hold trying to find you, so worried that you’d been killed or abducted. Seeing you here, though, living in this anonymity, I can understand why you did it. I also understand why you’d want to stay here with Malfoy. I understand why you’d both want to stay here. Here or there, I’m just glad you’re safe, and we’re still friends.”

“Always, Ron,” Harry said.

Ron smiled. “I’m going to go talk to Hermione.”

Harry waited until Ron was out the door before sighing deeply. “Hermione is right.”

“Yeah,” Draco said and put his head on Harry’s shoulder. “That stubborn witch usually is. But if you tell her I said that I’ll banish your bollocks.”

Harry chuckled and kissed Draco’s head. “Come on. There’s a lot of shit I have to settle before I can go back to London.”

“You’re going to go back?”

Harry nodded. “Knowing what’s over there … I can’t stay here.”

Draco looked disappointed.

Harry put his teacup down and wrapped his arms around Draco. “And no matter what happens, I want you by my side. Anyone that has a problem with our relationship can bugger themselves.”

“You need to lose the American accent.”

Harry laughed. “I love you, Ferret.”

“I love you, too, Scarhead.”

\---

A/N: There will be a short epilogue.


	8. Epilogue: A Gaggle of Love

Disclaimer: These definitely aren't mine. Characters and the plots of the Harry Potter series are property of JK Rowling.  


\-----/-----

Epilogue: A Gaggle of Love

Harry was confused when he tumbled out of the Floo at number 12 Grimmauld Place and was greeted by silence. No children laughing. No sounds of chaos or feet running all over the place. He tried to listen for screams, but the atmosphere was calm, not panicked. He walked toward the kitchen, senses on alert, his wand in his hand. Halfway there, he heard Draco’s voice and paused just outside of the library.

Carefully, he pushed open the door and smiled at what he saw. Draco was sitting in a multicolored, squishy, large armchair (obviously Transfigured since there was no way Draco would actually buy such a thing and mess up the decor by putting it in the library). There were two smaller children on his lap. The rest of them, even those that were fifteen and sixteen, were lying on the floor, staring mesmerized at the display above them.

Draco was reading them a story. Harry immediately recognized it as _Charlotte’s Web_ , a classic Muggle tale about how a spider saves a pig from being slaughtered. But of course, there was a little Draco twist.

The characters were moving in vague images above the children, acting out the words as Draco said them, almost like a live, 3D movie. Draco was about half way through the book. Harry stayed by the door and watched. At one point, Draco looked up and saw Harry. He smiled widely and kept reading.

Harry's heart was bursting with love for the man. He was so good with all the kids. And he was so good as the custodian of Harry’s heart.

Everything was just as crazy as they all predicted when Harry came back to London and back to the wizarding world. Like his friends advised, he was doing things on his own terms. And he was actually going to see a Healer about his concerns instead of keeping all the demons and fears inside himself. It made this time around much better than the last.

Draco stopped reading, and the images paused in the air.

“What happened next, Mister Draco, what?” more than one child asked and the rest quickly echoed it, forming the standard amount of noise Harry was used to. It made him smile.

Draco smirked and waved toward the door. “And then Harry Potter showed up and ruined everything.”

The kids looked over at him, and there was the barest of pauses, and then half of them were jumping up to say hello to him and give him a hug.

Harry smiled and returned all the hugs and tried to answer all their questions.

A moment later, Hannah Abbot was there, shuttling them toward the kitchen for lunch.

“But we want to finish the story!” a child whined.

Draco smiled and said, “Same time tomorrow and we’ll finish it. I promise.”

“Thank you, Mister Draco!” the children chorused, and they followed Hannah.

One of the children had fallen asleep in Draco’s lap, and he very carefully cradled her while he stood up.

“I’m going to go put this little flower down in her bed,” Draco said.

Harry kissed Draco’s cheek. “Meet in our bed after. The kids will be busy with lunch for an hour.”

Draco smirked. “Propositioning me in front of the children? Shame on you, Potter.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“I guess you’ll just have to run upstairs and see what happens.”

Harry cut off his laughter, mindful of the sleeping child. With a smirk, he said, “I found an old Slytherin tie that I thought you might want to put to good use.”

Draco’s eyes flashed. “Or you can put it to good use so we don’t have to wait.”

Harry grinned and said, “I’ll be waiting.”

“Go,” Draco all but growled, and Harry laughed and kissed his cheek and practically flew up the stairs to their bedroom on the top floor.

♥♥♥


End file.
